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— TWs for violence and blood

SEVEN DIDN'T EVEN HAVE time to clamber to her feet before she was kicked back down, one hard foot to her lower back was enough to send her back to her knees.
Her ribs cracked, pressing into her lungs and leaving her starving for air. Everything hurt.
She tasted blood, pooling on her tongue, choking on the metallic bitterness. She cried out, staring up at the man she'd once trusted, calling out to him with one final plea, begging for him to let her in. "Draco... Please,"

She could never have watched him hurt in this way — no matter how much she hated him.
Draco did not need a mask to hide his emotions, this was the real him, the horrid, hateful, unguarded him.

"Enough!" A voice snapped from behind, and Seven didn't even care enough to see the source, all she cared about was it was not the one she hoped to hear. What had she done to make him look at her this way?

"On your feet." The same, baritone voice barked and suddenly Seven was forced upwards. But her legs were uncoordinated and weak, struggling to support her weight like a newborn calf. Rough hands clawed their way into Seven's flesh, becoming frustrated by her infirmity. She bit back a shout, eyes watering as the hands squeezed her arms so hard she wondered how her bones didn't shatter and the voice screamed right next to her ear, "Fucking stand up!"

Tears blurred her eyes, but she would never let them fall. She refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. In the distance, Draco's face swam like through her vision like a water-colour portrait left out in the rain and she saw Bill being dragged away by his hair; face pale and unconscious.

"Avery." One word. Five letters. That was all he said, and yet somehow it was enough to still the air itself. The name itself was not particularly sharp, but Draco managed to turn it to a dagger, a weapon, razor sharp and cutting as he used it to slice through the chaos of room.
The man stopped trying to drag Seven backwards, halting, leaving her suspended in the air with her feet barely brushing the concrete. She felt him bristle behind her, "You, stay out of this. She's going to the ring," He snarled, " — They both are."

Draco did not soften in the slightest, appearing to stand impossibly taller, towering above them as he stalked over to the man that held Seven. For a brief moment he allowed his eyes to crawl over her, but not in the greedy way a man usually looks at a woman, no, instead Draco's eyes were cold, calculating — as if scrutinising every flaw.

"Fucking Look at her Avery — does she really look in any fit state to fight right now? She can't even stand."

"Navy's orders." Avery snapped back, begining to pull Seven backwards again. "I don't make the rules Draco, you of all people should know that."

"Then let me speak to her." He demanded.

"Don't push your luck." Avery's laugh coincided with the pounding in Seven's head, making it spin dangerously, threatening to dip with unconsciousness at any given moment. She held on, grasping at the threads of sanity, holding them tightly to her with both hands, terrified that if she let go she'd spiral. " — Just be grateful we're not making them fight each other the way you and your boy had to. At least this way they both have a chance."

Seven's skin became hot as Draco's eyes latched onto her. "Then give her to me. I'll take her myself."

Avery faltered, uncertain how to react. He was silent, thinking over a response before he finally said, "Fine."

Then he let go of her, deliberately shoving her towards Draco so that he had to catch her to stop her from falling.
A hissing breath worked it's way free from between Seven's lips as Draco effortlessly picked her up, as if she were nothing more than a rag doll, cradling her in his arms.
If she had had the strength, Seven would've cursed him, shouted at him, dug her fingernails into his skin and screamed at him to get away from her. But it was all she could do just to stay awake and not cry out with every minor movement.

The world began to sway as Draco carried her. She tried to hide from it, hoping that if she buried her face in his chest and breathed in his scent enough she could travel back to the last time he held her this close, the night they'd kissed on the balcony in Greed, back when she could convince herself things were far simpler, even though in reality they were even more twisted. He smelled like home. Like smoke and rain and something distinctly male that she could never quite seem trace.

A subtle glint of light caught her attention. The silver band on his left ring finger. A lump ached in the back of Seven's throat like a scream she couldn't release. No, she thought, things were certainly not less simple back then.

It felt like days, months, years, before they were finally alone as Draco stepped into the elevator and the doors clamped shut around them like some kind of great, metallic jaws. Seven held her breath, feeling entirely too vulnerable being trapped in such a small space with Draco and no escape.
She tried to think of Bill, of where he was, if he was okay, but she couldn't, her mind always seemed to find it's way back to the way Draco's skin was brushing hers — his arms around her shoulders, her thighs. Warm and firm and constant. He felt like home.

After a moment or two of nothing but the drone of mechanical silence, Draco finally spoke. "What are you doing here Seven?" She could practically hear the frown in his voice when he hissed, " — You should've stayed away."

"I tried." She answered honestly, but the words were scratchy and weak. Darkness tugged at her sleeve like a petulant child, beckoning her into the comforting embrace of sleep.

Draco let out a harsh grunt, grip tightening around her thighs, "Evidently not hard enough."

"What did you expect me to do?" It hurt to speak but she forced the words out through the pain in her chest, gritting her teeth. "I didn't know were else to go..." her voice broke, "...You weren't there."

His jaw ticked and after that he fell silent. Seven waited — hoping, praying for the sound of his voice. It was the only thing that helped dull her suffering. The only thing that made her feel whole.

"... I found Ron." Seven said at last; quiet and hesitant.

"Is he dead?" Draco asked as if already knowing the answer, staring at the closed elevator doors like he was willing them to open, wishing to be anywhere in the world here. Anywhere but here and alone with her.

Sucking in a breath Seven nodded, squeezing her eyes tightly shut to drown the barrage of mental images flooding her mind. She heard it again, she'd never forget it, the sound of the strike and then the thud as Ronald Weasley fell from his chair; dead in a way he did not deserve to be.

"Fuck." He cursed, closing his eyes too. Seven wondered what he saw when he shut the world out. Had he known Ron before all this? Even if he had, he'd never admit it to her. After all had he not been one of the men beating Bill bloody not ten minutes beforehand?

The thought made Seven grow harsh once more; unforgiving. "What are you doing here Draco?"

  When she finally looked up at him, he was studying her, watching her like she was the only thing in this world — so far removed from the man who'd hated her not minutes prior. But then his gaze darkened, something troubling lingering behind his grey eyes as his focus homed in on her bare throat.

  "Where's your necklace?"

  Seven struggled to lift her hand, fingertips brushing against her bruised clavicle. Even now she could still feel the ache of the purple stained fingerprints, curving around her neck in the memory of where a fist once was.
Then she frowned, "Seriously?" Out of all the horrid, cruel, messed things in this world, she only wished her voice sounded as strongly as she felt. " — That's what you're worried about?"

Beneath her his muscles tensed, growing hard and rigid, "I said, what happened to your necklace?"

  His eyes clung to her, watching the way she absentmindedly traced the outlines of the bruises, "I sold it — or I was going to — ," The world became blurry as a violent throb shook Seven's brain, " — Someone stole it."

  It was then that the elevator door finally opened, and Draco stepped out into the endless mess of tunnel-like halls, wide and lit by flickering bulbs. Seven couldn't tell exactly how far down they were, but judging by the walls — made from uneven, angular jutting edges carved out from the stone, she knew they were deep into the earth where the even the Crawlers would not find them. 

They were in Navy's territory now.

Somewhere far off, a shout echoed, ricocheting off the walls like a bullet only to tear through Seven's flesh, burying itself deep in her head. Draco noticed the way she winced, the way her body moulded further into his.

  "You shouldn't be here." He said, voice low and mottled grey with regret, suddenly unable to meet her eye. "You can't be here."

  She gave a weak, humourless smile, " — And yet here I am."

  Fine-lines marred his handsome face, the flickering light casting him hellish. A strange kind of ache gripped Seven's insides; he was so beautiful it hurt, even when looking so corrupt. "This is serious Seven."

  She tried to shift in his arms, pushing against his chest to reposition herself comfortably, only, the moment she moved he almost dropped her, letting out a guttural sound that caught in his throat. Like a wounded animal.
  Seven froze instantly, "You're hurt."

  "Don't you remember?" Draco let out a short, sharp sound. In another life it might have considered been close to a laugh, only to wince again as he raised Seven, cradling her in a way that didn't pain him. " — You stabbed me."

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QOTD- Do you like Greek mythology? Seggsy Greek gods? Toxic relationships? Powerplay? Smut? If so then you should defo read my new book The Legend Of Ares (previously known as MYTH)