She neared the fire. Neared Hiram. He watched with interest as she put her clothes into it, and as soon as she finished he raised a hand and slapped her face. It wasn’t a gentle hit. It was an open-handed mauling of a powerful warmonger. It would be enough to send her spinning, most likely falling.

“Let me teach you something off the bat.” Hiram began, walking towards he for his next assault.

Hiram was a cruel man. He hurt others on the regular—strangers, acquaintances, friends, family, it hardly mattered who you were—and he did it without remorse. There wasn’t an ounce of him that pitied the woman before him, just as one hardly pities the ant they squash under thumb.

“You belong to me now.” He’d kick her. He’d aim for the side but if she was scrambling to keep her feet pointed towards him then he’d do it in the closest leg.

“If you try to run, you will die.”

Hiram probably should have killed her. He still might. The only reason he tarried was because she was of interest to him. He had noticed a development in his gift, a heightened awareness to the different kinds of blood, and he wanted to put that to the test. That, and Nevermere was infesting Terra Nova like particularly resilient roaches and what better way to figure out how to defeat an enemy than to study it?

He approached her and sought to grab her by the hair. If he was successful he would drag her over to the fire and put her dangerously close to it, close enough for the emanating heat to hurt her skin and sing the edges of her hair.

“Tell me: can witches do any magic without moving those mouths of yours?”

Content with her answer, Hiram released her hair, shoving her from the fire as he did. He had already known the correct answer to that, he simply wanted to see if he had kidnapped an honest girl or a liar. Time would tell. He’d take everything she told him with a grain of salt.

“Will your family come looking for you?”

Definitely a random grab, but knowing only would have entertained Hiram. He wanted to shake the kingdoms. It was about time someone made it rain.

"I'll take that as a yes." He said, looking down at her with wicked eyes that delighted in her pain. "And I'll kill every last one that shows up at my front door."

“Yes!” Hiram countered, bearing his teeth as if fangs, lurching towards her, angry and humored simultaneously. “I will rip them apart and bathe you in their blood.” Spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth as he said it. “Hope—pray—they forget about your pathetic existence. And in the meantime?” He drew closer to her and would crouch again, reaching out with a hand to gently take hold of her chin,

“Serve me.”

Hiram’s gentle hold on her chin tightened enough to be firmer but not quite enough to hurt. Yet. His face moved in closer and he bore his teeth when he spoke like a snarling dog.

“Serve me.” He hissed it this time, widening his eyes, drilling into her with a steely gold gaze.