Star Wars: Dark Angel's Embrace

"Would you still like me to relay your question to Lord Vader, High Lord Tremayne?" she crooned with a caustic lilt. Tremayne's answer came in an explosion of red across his face and a fierce shaking of his jowls. Lylla's throaty laughter pealed down the dark corridor; it blended with the cries of the tortured in aberrant harmony, and kept in rhythm with the strike of her heels as she practically sprinted toward the speeder bay.

The Black Hole Commander took a step to go, but stopped when Tremayne caught his arm. "Lord Vader is at his fortress?"

"Yes, High Lord."

"Very good, Commander. You may go." As the two black-clad stormtroopers stepped in unison down the corridor, Tremayne picked a comlink out of his pocket. "Braxone."

"Yes, my Lord," Braxone's light tenor crackled over the com.

"I'm on my way back. And I expect a direct channel to Lord Vader to be open by the time I return..."

* * *

Their speeder raced through the day's end sky, skimming the peaks and crests of Coruscant's highest starscrapers. The thoroughfare they traveled was reserved for the Emperor and Lord Vader's use only, so theirs was the only speeder in their part of the atmosphere. The air was so clean, almost fragrant that high above the upper levels.

Her heart felt as though it would burst. He had sent for her! Lylla clutched the seat in front of her as she knelt up. She closed her eyes and smiled, filling her lungs, reveling in the feel of the wind whipping through her hair. To her, nothing else mattered but these next few hours, perhaps even days...? Universe be damned, all of it!

When she finally opened her eyes, she gasped, her eyes growing huge as she gaped at the monstrosity before them. Black obsidian spires stabbed into the indigo twilight skies. The ebon citadel loomed across the Coruscant blue, a terrifying yet magnificent monument of man's fortitude forged with machine's might.

*Just like him*, she thought.

"Enforcer Sa'thraxxx," the Commander sitting in the front seat addressed her, "I suggest belting yourself in. We will be descending to the docking port in a moment."

Lylla sank back into her seat, and absently clicked her restraint into place. She placed her hand over her heart, and when she felt its wild thump against her palm, a strange turmoil gripped her. * Why does my heart beat like this?* she thought. *He's a man, he's only a man, just like all the others, a means to an end, just like all the others...*

*But he's not, is he?*

Images and feelings swarmed her mind, memories of their night together on the now destroyed Death Star. He had shown her things, things that did not dwell in this mundane physical world, but were no less real. The dark magnificence of fallen angels had touched her, and there were times she still felt the heat of their lips upon her flesh. Then there were the corporeal changes; the blanching of her eyes from black to silver, the mad growth of her scarlet hair, the black streaks of the Dark Side striping through it, setting its mark on her.

And the nights...the long, unbearable nights she would lie in her sumptuous—and empty—bed, staring at the ceiling for hours. She bitterly recalled how, as she lay there, she would slide her hand down her body to her mound, and manipulate herself to the brink of ecstasy as she cried for his return.

The speeder descended toward the gaping maw of the fortress's speeder port, and Lylla's eyes slit. Quiet anger seeped over her as she thought silently,

*What have you done to me? *

* * *

"Of course, it pains me to bring you this news, My Lord Vader." Tremayne's holographic jowls sank with conjured remorse. "But I was given little choice, I fear."

"I see." Vader paused. Tremayne opened his mouth to continue, but was cut off. "What is her record so far?"

"Er, well," Tremayne began, somewhat reluctantly, "We have been breaking her in on somewhat easier subjects—the elderly, younger civilians—"

"And?" Vader asked impatiently.

Tremayne took a breath before admitting, "Full confessions from each subject. And all information checked out."

"In what time?"

"All confessed in less than a standard day."

"So," the Dark Lord rumbled evenly, "You felt it necessary to intrude upon my solitude to inform me that, much to your displeasure, my newest appointee to the Imperial Inquest Corps is doing her job well."

Tremayne stopped, and swallowed. "Force, no, my Lord! That's not what—"

"Do not take the Force's name in vain in my presence, if you please," Vader interjected with the mildest touch of threat.

Tremayne's earlier assurance was now completely shattered. He lowered his eyes. "Forgive me, Lord Vader. It was not my intention to question or insult you. I merely thought you should be informed of Enforcer Sathraxxx's behavior."

"And that is?" he asked flatly.

Vader closely watched the High Lord Inquisitor. Tremayne seemed to bristle ever so slightly to the Dark Lord's calm and even tone, but he certainly became more daring as he exclaimed, "The woman is completely out of control! She is arrogant and willful; she completely lacks any respect for her superiors—including me! Her behavior and dress are...inappropriate at best. She refuses to wear the standard Inquisition robes! Comes traipsing in wearing some—"

"Enforcer Sa'thraxxx's choice of wardrobe was a personal directive from myself," Vader informed him. He continued as Tremayne gawked. "Her physical attractiveness complements her natural talents. Surely that has been proven?"

"That I cannot deny, my Lord," Tremayne acknowledged grudgingly. "However, that isn't the end of it. She beats her slave in public view—a most distasteful practice, one must admit. And then her complete lack of discretion regarding the nature of her relationship with you—"

"And what exactly IS the nature of her relationship with me, High Lord?"

The unmistakable malice that reverberated through Vader's magnificent bass obviously had the desired effect. Tremayne's mouth blubbered silently as he struggled to find a suitable answer. "I'm sure," he finally sputtered, "I do not know, Lord Vader, nor care to."

"I thought as much." He sat up a bit straighter, leaning toward Tremayne's image. "Personality conflicts within the Corps do not concern me, Tremayne. Since Enforcer Sa'thraxxx appears to be performing her duties, I will not tolerate any more trivial reports regarding her manners or methods. Understood?"

"Clearly, my Lord Vader."

"However, as far as her behavior is concerned," Vader added, his tone softer but no less menacing as he curled his fist, "It will be dealt with accordingly."

Tremayne exhaled sharply as he bowed low. "I humbly thank you, Lord Vader."

Without acknowledging Tremayne any further, Vader switched the hologram off. As the projector lifted toward the ceiling, he collapsed back into his med-bed. He attempted deep breaths, but again, could not override the programmed rhythm of his respirator.

"Allow me, my Lord," his Two-One-Bee unit offered, extending one of its metal appendages and readjusting the panel on Vader's breastplate. The adjustment filled his mask with a gust of precious oxygen, and he inhaled deeply. With his remaining three appendages, Two-One-Bee delicately seared the last cable housing on Vader's cybernetic wrist closed. "Finished, my Lord. I have mended all cybernetic pathways."

Vader raised his hands to his mask, opening and closing them, testing the mends. "How long before I can shed my armor?" he asked.

"A few more minutes, my Lord. Pressure and oxygen levels in your chambers at eighty-five percent." The medical droid glanced at the monitor. "Heart rate has returned to standard beat. Organic to synthetic blood ratio has balanced. Brain scan shows no permanent damage. You should take sustenance though."

Insertion of his feeding tube was not particularly inviting. "Not now."

"Very well, my Lord." A soft alarm sounded from Vader's desk. "It seems the Commander has returned with Enforcer Sa'thraxxx."

"Bring her to my chambers," Vader instructed softly.

With a slight nod of its head, the Two-One-Bee unit backed up, turned, and glided across the onyx floor out the chamber doors. Vader lay on his med-bed. He stared at the ceiling as he waited for the chime signifying his chamber's oxygen levels were sufficient, and sighed.

Disciplined by his Master. Forced to correct his mistress. Yes, this homecoming was turning out exactly as he had expected.

* * *

It didn't surprise Lylla that the palace was massive. What did surprise her was its lack of...well, anything. No furniture, no servants, no art, nothing that would suggest Vader's obviously vast wealth, save for the place itself. In fact, there were no living, organic beings to be found anywhere. Just various makes of droids that would appear from the perpetual gloom of the place, rolling or stepping out from behind the staggering ebon pillars that held the lofted ceilings in place. She remembered a saying she had heard once that said, "A man's home is the reflection of his soul." And here it was, laid before her; so splendid and imposing, and yet so dark, so cold, so empty.

"I know the feeling," she murmured.

"Pardon, Madam?"

Her attention dropped from the sprawling ceilings to the protocol droid in front of her. "What?"

It tilted its head. "Did you say something to me, madam?"

"No," Lylla snapped irritably. Her musing was quickly replaced by impatience. "How much further must we walk?"

"Not long, Madam. Here." The droid gestured to the open lift doors before them. Lylla brushed past the droid. But the droid stayed behind.

She lifted an eyebrow. "You're not coming?"

"No, Madam. Only Lord Vader's medical droids are allowed on his private floor. No one has ever been granted access...except you."

A self-satisfied smirk played across her features. "As it should be," she growled softly as the lift doors slid closed.

When the lift stopped, the doors opened to reveal yet another grand corridor. The hall had to have been a half-kilometer long. The Coruscant twilight ebbed with every step she took, the last light of day leaching through the majestic cathedral windows that lined the vast passage.

She tried to walk the extensive corridor with patience and measured grace but, as it had been since the very moment she had learned of his return, her desire overcame her reason. Before Lylla even knew it she was running down the black hall. The wind she created caught her scarlet wrap, lifting it up and off her shoulders. She stopped only once, hopping on one leg, then the next as she pulled off the high-heeled boots that impeded her before resuming her sprint. The enormous doors that awaited her swung open, and Lylla wasted no time running through them.

She suddenly stopped, however, when she realized she couldn't see a thing. And the air...heavy, hot, almost too dense to breathe. With the air so thick with oxygen, her head began to spin, but nevertheless she tried to force her eyes to adjust to the darkness surrounding her. She looked above her to the only source of any light, the ceiling, which hosted a steel-strutted skylight that shown only the faintest glow from the city-planet below. She lowered her eyes, still struggling to see, when a form finally took shape. The dim light glinted off the sheen of the dome-shaped helmet, spilling over onto what appeared to be wide shoulders draped in a black cloak...

"Vader," she purred. She took careful steps toward the figure, careful to avoid any obstacles, before lunging forward and throwing her arms around the form—only to have it topple in her grasp. She screamed when the helmet clanged across the hard marble floor, and she gasped as she looked down at the heavy black cloak that pooled at her feet.

"Don't move."

Lylla shrieked again, nearly jumping out of her skin. Her eyes darted wildly through the darkness. "My lord—"

"And don't speak." This voice was different than the magnificent bass that she and the rest of the galaxy was used to; it was slightly higher in pitch, and hoarse, but yet still carried the melodious cadence that was unmistakably Vader. With the thick air, his helmet lying on the floor, and his voice unaltered, Lylla assumed the Dark Lord was completely unarmored.

A pause. "Move back into the light. I want to look on you."

The desire that had flustered her only moments before was slowly giving way to dread. Apprehensive, she stepped into the diffused circle of the skylight. Her lip trembled, but she raised her chin into the light to allow better viewing.

Many long, tense moments passed before the Dark Lord spoke again. "You are too thin, Sa'thraxxx," the voice rumbled. It came from all around her, as though he was circling her, taking her in. She could hear the faintest sounds come from the dark, the barely audible whirs of robotic gears, a soft clink every time he took a step, but could still see nothing. "One would think that with your newfound fortune, a decent meal would have made its way to your lips. You are no longer a slave." A pause. "Or are you?"

Something shot from the dark and seized her by the throat. Before she could scream, she was hoisted from the floor. Lylla thrashed and kicked and clawed at the clamp around her throat...but her fingers suddenly stilled when she realized it wasn't a clamp at all. It was a hand hewn of wire and metal.

Another metal hand plunged down the neckline of her dress and groped around her breast. But it was gone as quickly, and as it rose before her eyes, a slim joint of glimmerspice was pinched between metal digits. "A slave to this?"

Her voice came out a strangled squeak. "Vader—"

"YOU ARE NOT FIT TO UTTER MY NAME!" Vader roared. Instantly, he quieted to a savage hiss. "High Lord Inquisitor Tremayne has just informed me of your conduct of recent months, Sa'thraxxx."

Lylla clenched her eyes and winced, despite her immediate peril.Bastard son of a galley whore, she thought dourly.

His fingers tightened around her throat, cutting her air even more. He bit out every word. "I lifted you from bondage, I bestowed you with wealth, I handed you the power of fear and privilege, and how do you repay me? With arrogance, with indiscretion, withADDICTION!" He crushed the joint between his metal fingers, letting it pepper to the floor. "I will NOT be humiliated by the likes of YOU! Give me one sound reason why I should not kill you as I stand!"

Lylla's body went limp within his grip. Her lord's favor was slipping away, along with her consciousness, and she would rather be dead than be cast off. Even as her complexion began to blue, she rasped dejectedly, "I can't."

Vader held her there a moment more, glaring at her from the shadows. He opened himself to her emotions. He expected the usual—fear, terror, desperation. But instead, he felt... heartbreak. Disgrace that she had displeased him. And complete acceptance of her fate, at his hands. He watched a single tear catch the minimal light and sparkle as it slid down her alabaster cheek.

A grimace smeared his scarred lip. The metal hand abruptly snapped open. Lylla dropped to the floor, collapsing to her hands and knees, sucking hoarse breaths into her starved lungs. Vader turned back into the darkness. "Perhaps I was mistaken about you," he growled. "Perhaps you are not worthy of my favor."

Lylla's desperate breaths suddenly slowed, and Vader immediately felt her desolation turn into quiet anger. Slowly, she raised her head and glared into the darkness. "Ah," she growled back, her lip pulling from her teeth, "but I was worthy enough tofuck, wasn't I...Vader?" She literally spit his name through her teeth.

"You dare take that tone with me, girl!"

"Yes, I dare!" Lylla shot back, narrowing her eyes into silver slits. "When you threaten me without hearing me out, I dare! When you disappear for months and don't even tell me where you are—"

"I was stranded on Yavin 3!" he bellowed furiously. "Fighting my way through jungle and beasts for weeks on end! My ship was destroyed; I had no transmitter, no nourishment, nothing! So forgive me, Lady," he hissed, "if I couldn't return quickly enough to coddle you!"

"YOU LEFT ME HERE!" she screamed. She beat her fists against the hard floor. "You told me it would only be a few days, after you had defeated the Rebels! You left me here, alone, at the mercy of those Imperial skiv-wolves! Tremayne, Isaard, all of them, calling mewhore, laughing at me..." A heavy sob wracked her thin body. "I didn't know what to do, I didn't know how to act! So yes, I did imply that we were lovers—simply to frighten them, to make them...just leave me alone!" She sat back on her feet and pressed her palms against her soaking eyes. "I...wanted...to be strong, feared ...to be like...you."

"Is that how you think I behave?" Vader asked. "Like a ranting, insufferable child?"

Lylla let out a frustrated shriek and hit the floor again. "Show yourself, damn it! Why do you constantly hide from me? First you blind me, and now you lurk in the dark! If you are going to kill me, thenfaceme! Like a MAN!"

A heavy metallic THUNK came towards her, then another. Before she could react, the metal hands had clamped her by the shoulders and jerked her off the floor. She opened her mouth to scream, but then stopped. She gaped at his face, now just a hair's breath before her. Pale, scarred skin stretched over chiseled cheekbones. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a livid snarl. And his eyes burned a seething yellow sparked with scarlet. "Is this what you want?" he hissed breathlessly. "Isthiswhat you wanted to see?"

"Yes, damn you!"

His hand was suddenly in her hair, brutally twisting it in his fingers, and he jerked her head back as he roared, "Foolish, infuriating girl! I could burst your heart with a mere thought—"

"THEN DO IT!" she screamed. Vader stopped and, as he held her in his grip, watched her fight the tears back into her eyes. She never averted her glare. "If I am nothing to you, if I have lost your favor forever, then I'd rather be dead." She clenched her eyes shut. "I hate you. I hate that you've made me so weak! I hate you!"

Vader exhaled sharply, and before either he or Lylla realized it, he was crushing her mouth in a savage kiss. Lylla stiffened at first in surprise, but only for the briefest moment. The hesitancy and uncertainty apparent in their first encounter was gone, replaced by the raw fury and passion that she knew him capable of and had so craved these last few months. She fervently kissed him back, plundering his tongue with her own. When his cybernetic hands slid down to grasp her buttocks, she instinctively took the cue and clamped her long legs around his hips while snaking her arms around his neck. Through her dress, she could feel that he was naked—and hard for her.

Vader abruptly broke off the kiss, but still held her pinned against him. They panted against each other, staring into the other's eyes. His digits slid into her wild hair again and pulled her head back, albeit far more gently this time, and his teeth grazed the satin column of her throat. Lylla gasped a sultry laugh, and ground her pubis against his hardness. "Am I forgiven?" she whispered huskily.

Vader pulled back to meet her eyes, and raised a hairless eyebrow. "Not quite." He held her in his glare. "You are reckless, Sa'thraxxx—"

"Lylla," she corrected. "Call me Lylla, damn it."

The yellow glow sparked for a split second, but then subsided. Vader stared at her intensely, and Lylla thought she saw... bemusement, perhaps? He took a deep, ragged breath into his scarred lungs before rumbling, "Why do you not fear me, Lylla?"

"Why do youwantme, Vader?" When he didn't respond, she answered for him. "Is it because I don't fear you?" She brushed her lips against his, and caressed his breath with hers. "Because Iunderstandyou?"