Desten had, though suffered a few random beatings, been doing fairly well for herself. Traces of her old life washed off of her like dirt, and so Stefan carefully rebuild the Golden Hawk in his own image and perception of perfection. Evenings were quiet and spent with someone employed to teach her German, the only rightful language she needed to know, or sharpening her knowledge of her Master.
One quiet such evening Desten had been only minutes out of the shower when there was noise at the end of the hall that lead to Stefan's quarters. She had dried her hair already but her wings were still unpleasantly damp, and she held them out at an awkward angle as she robed herself accordingly. Modesty was something she had never need be taught, that was certain.
She approached the door with anticipation, expecting Stefan to be on the other side of it. She heard fingers grasp the knob and pull, but when the door opened, it was quite not her Master, rather, something quite else.
A new trainer, Cassius, had gotten it into his head that Desten had slighted him, and without an apology or penance from her and not even a glance in his direction from Stefan, the man had decided to take matters into his own hands. He, of course, had no idea anything about Stefan or his operations, or how much of a great mistake he'd made by even coming.
The tall brunette took very large steps into the room, slamming the door behind him. Desten was more in shock that the man - the mongrel man - had just barged into Stefan's personal quarters rather than fear for her own safety (which might have been a good idea at the moment).
"Get out!" she shouted at him, finding her voice. "My Master is coming back shortly and won't be pleased at your presence, barbarian." She spoke proudly and firmly, just as Stefan had taught her.
Cassius didn't seem to be as enthusiastic over her new training. "You'd do well to hold your tongue, dear," he snarled, reaching towards her. Desten had moved to sidestep, but he got a handful of her robe and yanked her towards him so hard that she stumbled on the carpet and cried out.
What transpired next was more terrifying than Desten could remember her first days at Midnight being. The man threw her into the ground for every time she got up, hitting her in the face so hard she was sure that she had broken bones (she hadn't, but it felt like it).
Screaming and running around the room hadn't done her any good, but she was so stunned that she didn't even think to try and call to Stefan with her mind. It wasn't until he had one of her wings in his hand that Desten even attempted to reach out to him.
When she did it was precisely at the time when Cassius broke it, and her message came out like nothing more than screams and static. Stefan had been careful of two very specific things when it came to Desten - her wings and her rights as a female. With the wing ordeal out of the way, Cassius decided that he'd beaten her enough into submission to have his way with her.
Desten, however, had other plans. She grabbed up a piece of the wood from the table that had splintered as she'd careened into it, and when the man made to pin her in the corner, she jammed it directly into his thigh, just as Stefan had done to her months before.
The vampire screamed, not appreciating the pain, and grabbed her with one hand by the throat, lifting her up against the wall, while he struggled to pull the stake out with the other. She felt spots creeping into her vision and sounds starting to dull off... all she could think was that the mongrel was going to ruin her - RUIN her - and then her Master would never want to look at her again. And why would he? With this dirty creature's hands all over her, who would?
She tried to kick at his face, but he slammed her frail form into the wall a few more times in the interest of subduing her. It was no matter if they were alive or dead - it was all the same to him.
There were a few situations, most of them involving other trainers that he disliked or barely respected, where Stefan would have dawdled before responding or really accomplishing anything of importance. In fact, he was currently doing exactly that with some trainer not much older than he was, and he'd made sure to be a real bother about the entire situation, just out of spite. The man wasn't one he respected, he was a mongrel of mixed blood, and Stefan didn't feel like being at all cooperative. He'd stopped short of being downright rude, just in case he needed to utilize the man another time, but only barely.
When he heard Desten screaming in his mind, reaching out for him in her pain and fear, he was tired of feigning polite conversation.
"I have more important things to attend to," he told the other man briskly, and he was out the door. The worst thing in his realm of reality right then was that he wasn't yet old enough to have come into enough power to teleport, and that wasted time. When he arrived at his quarters, he was worried he'd be too late, but the scene he busted in on was absolutely appalling, not to mention infuriating.
"HOW DARE YOU?!" he thundered, as loud as his voice had ever been around Desten, or most people for that matter. He wasn't a man who raised his voice too often, but occasionally in anger he'd shout. Nothing like this, though. This was beyond simple anger, or even insult. He had a knife he'd had on his person in his hand and had thrown it across the room in an instant, and he slammed the door hard enough to most likely jam it shut right before he launched himself at his hawk's attacker. The knife had been aimed for the man's spinal cord, though Cassius had jerked to face him when he yelled so that he took the knife to the ribs, and even a vampire wasn't recovering from that immediately. Besides, Stefan wasn't giving him time. He ripped the knife out rather quickly, and pulled the younger vampire to his feet.
"How dare you touch what is mine? How DARE you lay your filthy little hands on something that I have taken for my own? What could ever make you think that a filthy, mixed blood barbarian such as yourself could take vengeance where I refused to grant it to you?" he demanded, but he didn't want answers. Let the man consider it silently, as Stefan thought it'd be far more interesting to start his own vengeance by first slitting the man's throat, and then reaching behind him to jam the knife right through his spinal cord. He wasn't letting the beast escape. That was where he dropped him, and he turned to tend to Desten. He'd finish with Cassius once he knew that she would be relatively alright. If Cassius moved, as limited as his movement was, Stefan would hurt him more and then draw death out.
"Desten? Desten, look at me, my dear," he told her softly, trying to rouse her both with his voice and his mind. She was hurt, and he wanted her to remain as calm as he could keep her lest she hurt herself worse. That monster had damaged her wings, which meant even worse treatment for him. What he'd been trying to do had been the real kicker, though. Stefan had to wonder how long a vampire of that age could survive under extreme torture.
The presence of silence in the room after Stefan's swift regaining of control was deafening - mostly from Desten herself. Whereas months prior she'd have been a chorus of angry, disgruntled noises and vengeful growls and screeches, now she was as silent as a tomb. She felt like she was in a dream world, and she couldn't feel her limbs very much at all.
She didn't look at Stefan as he spoke to her, instead her fingers grazed across the ground as bloody, golden feathers spread across the floor beneath her. Her robe was ripped and stained red, much like her hair at the moment. Swatches of blood lay across her arms and face, and she looked truly like a one-winged angel (for the other wing was definitely bent at an unnatural angle), dipped just so in blood to always remind mortals of their sins.
She rubbed feathers between her fingers, the only sound from her labored breathing. He had crushed her windpipe, which was something she'd felt before, and it was slowly reconstructing itself as she lay in the fetal position, hand drawn into her chest with the small clasp of wet feathers.
Stefan was trying extremely hard to be comforting and non-threatening at this point, mostly because this was a situation not of his creation, it didn't suit his purposes, and it was going to ruin his beautiful little hawk if he didn't fix it, and fast. "Desten, listen to me, my dear. It's all going to be alright, I promise. I'll help you make things better," he told her calmly, as soothingly as he could. He wanted her to stay calm, not rush out of shock and hurt herself worse.
"Let's get you up, I'll help you, and we'll clean you up, alright? We can set your wing in just a few minutes, and you can get some rest," he assured her, slowly moving to pick her up. He could hear the way she was breathing, and knew the asshole had crushed her windpipe, but he'd finish that filth off when he was done making sure Desten was alright. He'd left that knife jammed in the vampire's spinal cord so that it couldn't heal, and so Cassius wasn't going anywhere.
Desten allowed herself to be picked up with little fight, resting her head against Stefan's chest as he tried to carefully move her from the crime scene. It was all going smoothly until Desten caught a glimpse of herself in the shattered mirror (incidentally, from where her head had slammed into it only moments prior). Her wing was bent back at an unnatural angle, and her face and arms were scratched and clawed so bad she didn't even recognize herself.
She had been repressing her emotions, especially her anger, for a long time until that point, but in a twisted outburst, she suddenly felt more enraged by the idea that she was no longer perfect, no longer a reflection of Stefan (nevermind her own state of being). She screamed, and it came out a feral, angry noise, thanks to the damage on her throat. She started fighting Stefan and flapping her wings, causing the break in the wounded one only to worsen. It wasn't until she got a handful of her own feathers when things got really bad, though.
With all of the kicking and flapping, she managed to push free of Stefan and hit the floor with a loud, angry noise. She began tearing at her feathers, ripping them in handfuls, and flinging them around the room. She was making strange noises, like she'd have been talking if she could have, but even then it was doubtful it'd have made much sense to anyone but her. Rip. Rip. Rip.
He was actually startled by her sudden outburst, to the point that she managed to leap out of his arms, and he wasn't slow on the uptake. Kudos to Desten, not that it was a good thing. He lunged for her again, not in time to stop her from causing more damage to herself, but enough to grab her wrists and give her a good shake.
"Desten, STOP!" he shouted, striking out with a mental hand not to hurt her, but to forcefully DEMAND her attention. "Stop. We're going to fix your wing and your feathers, it's all going to be alright. Do you understand me?"
She'd better.
In mid-tear, Stefan grabbed her and shook the shit out of her. Desten stared back at him, wide, angry eyes and all. She looked like, for a split second, she was going to be defiant. It was a funny sight if you neglected the fact of what had transpired. She was on the floor on her rump with her hands being held back, tufts of feathers peeking out of clenched fists as Stefan yelled at her.
She didn't like being yelled at, though, and for that it took her longer to respond than she should have. She might catch an ass beating for this later, but right now, Desten wasn't entirely home upstairs. She still couldn't really grasp what had happened (not that she didn't comprehend it, because she DID), obviously, because any other day Stefan wouldn't have even had to bring it to grabbing her. Telling her what to do was enough.
"Yes. I understand," she said angrily. She understood just fine, but she didn't think he was going to fix this. Her wings, sure. The rest of this? She didn't think it was fixable. Not unless he controlled time. This wasn't going to be alright.
He released one of her wrists to take hold of her chin in his hand, giving her a sharp look and forcing her to keep looking at him. "Be aware of your tone, Desten. I will do everything in my power to fix this, but you will not disrespect me."
With that said, he straightened and started leading her towards the bathroom. He'd tried carrying her once, and she'd leapt out of his arms, so he wasn't doing it again in the same five minutes. She'd walk if she could jump out of his arms.
Once inside the bathroom, he started up the water in the tub, ensuring it was warm enough for her, but not scalding. Then, he left it to fill and looked to her. She wasn't going to like this. "Remember, Desten, I told you I would never touch you in a sexual manner against your will. I want you to disrobe. Immediately. I will help you bathe, and then your wounds will be seen to."
Desten just stared at Stefan as he told her to disrobe. It was the first time in the entire duration of the time he'd had her since she'd been mostly broken that she'd not obeyed an order right away, or without a second thought. But this time, it didn't matter what he'd said to her, the fact that Desten already didn't like men, and then one she trusted was telling her to do exactly what she did NOT want to do at the moment... her thoughts were plainly clear.
Did she think Stefan would hurt her? No, not like Cassius had tried to. Did she believe that he would punish her for disobeying? Yes, without a doubt. Did she trust that she would be able to do what he said without losing her mind briefly? No. She stayed by the door of the bathroom, clutching the bloody fabric to her, wordless. She was terrified of Stefan, and not in a way that she had been before. This wasn't a healthy fear, this was a maddening fear. She wasn't just afraid of him because she had a healthy fear; she was afraid of him because he was a man.
Nobody seemed to be at home in her head for a few seconds as her thoughts dropped to static and came back, like rotating dials on a radio. If Desten hadn't liked men before, she certainly would never like them now. Stefan was the only one to get close to her in ages, and that was moreso because he'd forced himself into her life. If the night had gone as normal when they'd met, she'd have left him at the bar and gone home alone, as was her way.
Great. He really needed her half-insane.
He took a moment to close his eyes and just re-compose himself, lest he get frustrated and do something to scare her worse. This was far too delicate of a situation for him to just mess it up. "Desten," he said calmly, demanding her attention, preferably with some reasoning abilities along with it. "I don't want to scare you, but you have to promise me something. Do you understand that?"
He waited until he had confirmation, and then he continued. "If you can promise me that you won't cause further damage to yourself or your wings, in ANY way, then I will leave you to bathe alone. Do you understand? That means, don't wash so roughly that it hurts your wings or other injuries worse, or anything of the sort. You need to promise you won't before I'll leave."
That alone was perhaps a miracle, coming from him. He wasn't known for adhering to the wishes of his pets. They did what HE wanted, not vice versa, but he'd also never had a pet or slave who'd been attacked in such a manner. He was trying to be understanding.
She looked away, until he raised his voice. She tried to summon up all of the reason and logic that she felt somewhere in that vacant brain of hers, enough to focus on what he said, to listen, to really understand. He was going to let her do this on her own, as long as she promised not to, well, make anything worse.
Desten could do that. She could. She totally could.
"Yes," she squeaked out. She still felt pain from the damage on her windpipe. "Yes," she said again, this time more clear, less scratchy and inaudible. "I promise, Master. I promise." She sighed low, feeling like an anvil had been taken off of her chest.
As soon as Stefan was gone, Desten went around the bathroom, peering into every crevice, every corner, every nook that she could, making sure nobody was in there, waiting to pounce. She then dutifully cleaned herself, doing ONLY as she had been asked, although she had accidentally ripped a few feathers out that had half-fallen anyways. She didn't think those would count, at least, she hoped they wouldn't. She put them in the trash anyways.
She didn't put the ruined robe back on as she approached the door, but rather managed to wrap a towel around herself for comfort. She opened the door a hair, and stuck only as much as she could out without exposing herself. That was probably the left half of her face and her nose, maybe. She PEERED into the bedroom, trying to find Stefan without having to come all the way out of the bathroom. She was still worried someone was going to jump on her.
Stefan was seated in a high-backed, comfortable chair when she peeked out at him, a blonde woman seated in another chair and looking slightly nervous. She was a doctor he'd called for, but she'd arrived in time to see him carting Cassius out of the room and down to the dungeons to play with later, and the younger vampire had been in worse condition even than when Desten left him to bathe herself. He'd been a bit impatient and hadn't wanted to wait until he had time at a later hour to deal with the idiot, so he'd taken out the frustration he didn't want Desten to see on the other vampire's body. He was going to draw it out.
Desten wouldn't see any of this, though. In fact, he had some slaves cleaning up any evidence of the attack in the other room, including removing the mirror that had upset the hawk so.
"Come out, Desten. This is Amber. She's a doctor, and she'd like to make sure your wings heal properly. I need you to sit still and do as she says, do you understand?" he asked, watching her closely. He'd called in a female physician because he knew that Desten would be uncomfortable around a strange man after that, but her wing had to be set or it would heal wrong. He wouldn't have a crippled hawk.
She nodded, and crept out further, before remembering that Amber was still Stefan's guest as well as a physician, and she needed to present herself accordingly. As much as it killed her, she stood up straight, trying to fold her wings down on her back. The pain was... excruciating. Tears stung her eyes, but she did not falter, instead smiling graciously at the doctor. She couldn't utter a word, though. That would be a little more than she could manage right at the moment.
She approached her slowly, gracefully, ignoring all of the small cuts and bruises that had begun to heal, and sat down where she was directed. She looked at Stefan out of the corner of her gold-flecked eyes, and then looked ahead straight again. She wondered if she'd be punished for this later.