Friday Fade-Out! - Bending the Unbreakable, Chapter 14

I was so sure that I had some kind of story line written for this. I never work without at least a rudimentary plot! But alas, it's gone. Or I just can't find it anymore, haha! I blame university for this, it's making me all woozy and confused.
But never mind! I'll write a new one, a better one. Here's chapter 14 for you, have fun!

Find the entire story here! 

The dagger lay heavy and reassuring in Niro’s fingers, a familiar weight and friend to his hatred. He didn’t stop to marvel at his luck, though; his arm made an elegant swipe towards the Ailill’s midsection, only hindered by their close proximity. Stitches across his back twinged with pain in answer to the sudden exertion, but Niro didn’t pay them any attention.
He should have still caught something, if only the cloth billowing around the Ailill’s chest, but he didn’t. The ashen man didn’t so much jump out of the blade’s path, he simply wasn’t there when the slightly curved edge whistled through the air. He hadn’t fled, either, he was standing just out of Niro’s reach, head cocked sideways and smiling.
“Want to try again, pet?” he purred in a softer voice, turning his face slightly to bare his pulse; a lascivious and infuriating invitation that Niro just couldn’t pass up. He switched his grip on the dagger, aligning the blade’s edge to lay parallel to his forearm, and jumped forward with two quick, diagonal steps, feinting to the right and to the left as he worked his way closer to his target. Only when he closed in on the Ailill did he finally go for the Ailill’s right thigh, waiting for the last possible moment to show his cards.
This time, the blade caught cloth, hissing through the fine weave with a melodious sound as the Ailill dodged back once more. Niro followed the moves this time, trying his best to catch a glimpse of the minute, lightning-fast movements and failing. At least he managed to stay on his heels, driving him across his bedroom like a snarling, blade-wielding fury.
Still, the Ailill dodged each swing, each strike or stab, offering enticing glimpses of pale, smooth, ash-gray skin as he weaved through the obstacle course that was his furniture. And he did it backwards, keeping his eyes on Niro— his face, not his arm, feet, or shoulders— smiling infuriatingly through it all.
It was his expression, that glint in Master’s eye, that finally pushed Niro over the edge of the ever-brewing rage in his heart. A blink of fury, a second of not concentrating on following the creature’s wraith-like, dancing moves and Niro was lost, crashing into the table and sending the chairs flying as he fell to the ground. The impact drove the air out of his lungs and left him battered and dazed. Had he actually moved that fast? And if so, how had he done that? How had that Fae bastard managed to be even faster?
Niro lay sprawled between the seats, staring up at the smiling nightmare that was his captor. The gaping slash in his jerkin sleeve aside, he was unfazed, not even breathing hard, not a slice of worry or anger in his inhuman eyes. That look, that too wide, too calm, too intimate expression tightened Niro’s chest, made it hard to breathe. The innate stillness in that creature’s face filled him with fear until it was all he could think of. When the Ailill finally spoke again, the smooth sound of his voice made Niro’s hairs stand on end.
“Would you like to try a third time, pet?” he purred throatily, gliding closer. “It will be your last chance to sow your wild oats, mind you. Three is the arcane number of certainty, and to let you try more than thrice and not render opposition would be sacrilege against the Lord and Lady, as much as I enjoy this little game.”
Game, he said. He actually thought this to be a game! Niro shuddered, tightening his grip on the dagger to the point of pain. Then he let it clatter to the ground, shaking his head in defeat. Two direct attacks had already failed miserably, no use in trying a third time and disgrace himself further. What he had learned so far was enough to keep him busy with planning for a few days, just long enough to fill the days of recovery after whatever punishment his new keeper would likely hand out to him.
Buying time to plan, yes, that was the reason he gave in; at least that was what Niro tried to tell his screaming mind.
The Ailill stepped closer, doing a kind of half-nod towards the side and shooing him with one hand. “Out of my sitting arrangement, little pet. And no sudden motions, we wouldn’t want you to get hurt by accident.”
He wasn’t stupid, Niro had to give him that. As he fought his body, grinding his teeth though the showers of pain on his way back to his feet, the Ailill moved closer and carefully set overthrown chairs back on their feet, tutting at the splintered table. “I would like to allege I hate having to punish you this soon,” he said, unperturbed by Niro’s careful shuffle away from the furniture, and picked up the table cloth. He shook it out, draped it over the broken table, and finally turned, eying Niro’s battered body with that too-intimate, too-hot look of his.
“But that would be a lie. I, oh, so look forward to punishing you,” he finally added with a purr. Then he smiled, and moved. Faster than before, inhumanly quick as he reached for Niro and grabbed his throat to silence the scream about to break out of his mouth.