Cruelty Is a Relative Concept (Part 1).

Marcus's face darkened, he looked at the tray with food, which was almost untouched. "Again?"

"Yes, Master. Miss Amelia took only an apple and ate some soup. She refused to eat the rest," the young man bowed his head guiltily. Marcus asked him to look after the girl, but over the past week, his subordinate could not boast of great success.

Marcus frowned. So you decided to go on a hunger strike, Miss Teser? Let's see how you stand.

"Simon."

"Yes, sir?"

"Bring me the ice cream. Strawberry and raspberry. Two big balls. In a beautiful glass, decorate everything with fresh berries on top."

Simon looked at the man in bewilderment, treacherous lights flashed in Marcus's narrowed eyes, "Um, Master, we don't have ice cream on the base. The way to the city and back will take at least an hour."

"And who said that you would go by car?" Marcus smirked, pulled out a wallet from his pocket, took out a few banknotes and put them in Simon's chest pocket, "Have you forgotten who your master is? You have ten minutes," the man took the tray from the guy's hands, spread his palm and, before Simon had time to mentally prepare for the move, Marcus touched his subordinate.

Taubert's eyes turned black, with a pleased expression he looked at the light clouds of steam that remained on the spot where Simon had stood a second earlier. Marcus learned this trick several years ago. He could move other people over short distances, using energy binding to himself.

This technique required great strength, both from Marcus himself and from the one who was being moved. But at the moment, the man didn't mind sharing some energy.

He looked at the tray, a plate of cheese soup was half full. The man took a spoon and brought it to his mouth, "Hmm, and this guy learned to cook well. And why is she giving him attitude?" Marcus quietly ate the soup that Simon carefully prepared for their guest.

Ten minutes later, second per second, the guy appeared in front of the master. In his hands was a beautiful crystal glass with balls of ice cream, decorated with fresh berries. The sight of the dessert would have aroused the appetite even of ardent opponents of sweets, the refined beauty of serving ice cream could satisfy the exacting taste of the Queen of England, but the face of the person who delivered this dish was, to put it mildly, ...

Marcus looked from the dessert to Simon. The guy looked pale and tired as if he had spent several nights dragging heavy sandbags to the top of the mountain without a minute's break.

"Okay, until the evening I will not bother you. Have some rest," Marcus took the ice cream from Simon's hands, handed the tray back to him and patted his shoulder, "Thank you, Brian. You did a good job."

"Thank you, Master," the young man bowed, and, shuffling his legs, headed for his room. If Marcus called him by name, it means that the boss was satisfied, and these works were not in vain, "I hate teleportation," Simon sighed, mentally counting how many days it would take him to fully recover. And all because of berry ice cream.

Amelia heard how the lock on the door clicked, the girl pointedly turned away and stared at the empty gray wall.

"You seem to be eighteen years old, but still behave as capricious as a small child. How long will you keep offending Simon? The guy is standing at the stove all day, thinking of what dish to make for you. Aren't you ashamed, Miss Teser?"

The girl abruptly turned her head and opened her mouth to say something rude in reply, but immediately closed it. Her eyes stuck to a beautiful glass with a cool dessert, and at that moment she was like a child meeting Santa Claus. Marcus was ready to argue that she even licked her lips, barely noticeably, but this gesture was enough for him.

The man put the glass on the table between him and the girl, and sat in the chair opposite. He took the top raspberry and slowly put it in his mouth.

Amelia swallowed and mentally wished that Marcus had an allergy and anaphylactic shock afterwards. This monster knew her too well and deliberately provoked her using the girl's weaknesses.

"Well, how much longer do I have to wait when you tell me where the hell this damn kukri is? What's the point of delaying the inevitable, Amelia? Both you and I know the future. Or are you craving death at my hands?"

The man parted his lips, and the edge of the scarlet berry slipped along his white teeth, disappearing into the depths of his mouth. The girl hardly looked away from the man's face, but her eyes treacherously demanded to come back and follow his every move. Damn hormones. Has someone in the room raised the temperature?

Marcus leaned forward, extended his hand to the glass and pushed the ice cream toward Amelia, "Help yourself."

"I do not want."

"Oh really?" the man leaned back in his chair and pointedly looked at the girl, "Hmm, are you sure? Then why did your heart start beating faster when I entered the room? Even now, I hear that your breathing has become a little intermittent. Aren't you hot? I think you have a fever. A clear sign of emotional arousal. So I thought that you really wanted ice cream. Or am I mistaken... and you want something else?" Marcus raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips bent in a malicious smile.

Amelia grabbed a glass of ice cream from the table, scooped up a large spoon and put it in her mouth. Even if she thought about something else, this brazen manipulator does not need to know about it. The girl wrinkled, the dessert was colder than she expected, but her upbringing and pride did not allow her to spit out. Having suffered pain in her teeth, she swallowed the ice cream and raised her head, showing a restrained expression on her face. She put the glass back on the table.

"You got some ice cream here," Marcus touched his lower lip with his index finger and licked it with his tongue.

Amelia reflexively repeated its action, licking out the rest of the ice cream from her mouth. Her cheeks were flushed.

"Good girl," the man murmured in response, mentally enjoying the sound of her rapid heartbeat. He had many tricks to get the necessary information out of this naive little girl. He could have done this by force but did not want to spoil the already low opinion of him in the eyes of Amelia.

"I will not tell you anything. Go away."

"I prefer to stay," said Marcus, and vanished into thin air. Amelia blinked, not understanding what had happened. The words and actions of this person contradicted each other. But the next second, Marcus reappeared in her room with a large white canvas.

"W-what are you doing?"

The man silently set an easel and canvas, ignoring the girl's question, disappeared and reappeared with a palette, paints and brushes in his hands.

Marcus laid out his things at his convenience, sat facing Amelia and smiled slyly, "Since you are not yet ready to speak, I will get down to business and wait. I warn you in advance, my patience is not unlimited."

The room was filled with the smell of oil paint, but Amelia was confused not so much by the smell as by the gaze of the man sitting behind the canvas.

"Are you going to draw?! Just don't say that that you are drawing me?!" This situation seemed absurd and embarrassing to the girl. Yes, she often watched Marcus in her dreams, knew the main points of his lifestyle, but to say that she knew this man would be far from the truth.

And even more so, she did not expect that he could sit so impudently opposite and draw her! Who knows with what scribbles he will depict her? What if it's some kind of secret magic that he then will use against her?

The girl waved her head, driving away absurd thoughts from herself, which caused an annoyed comment from the man, "Sit still and do not move. Otherwise, I'll draw a crow's nest on your head."

"Pff, whatever. You won't make it anyway."

"Girl, I have told you more than once. You don't understand who you are playing with. Stop pouting your lips and quit being stubborn, just do what I asked you to do. Until I forced you, and I know how to do it well."

Amelia did not see the man's face. When he said these words, his intonation itself was enough to understand the seriousness of his intentions.

But how could she disclose important information to him if she was sure that they had different information? Because if Marcus knew what she knew, he would behave in a completely different way. But, apparently, only her heart was beating in a beaten rhythm, like a motor on her father's old MINI, when Martin allowed his daughter to drive.

She never had time to learn how to drive a car, and thought that at least she had learned to control her heart, but the return of this man to her life destroyed the girl's illusion. Her heart refused to switch to neutral speed and only seemed to push the gas pedal even harder. Amelia knew that if she allowed this to happen, she would no longer need the braking pedal.