Wulf dropped the phone. It landed on the top of the blanket by his thigh.
Now the man—Malik—stood by the bedside, knocking his knees against the mattress.
“No need to call him.”
“Who?”
“Your master.” This time, laughter whispered in the dark. “Locke and I are old friends. Perhaps you remember me from the auction? When we both saw you, oh my. Finally! A little excitement to an otherwise rather dreary day. A One-Night Thrall! And what a specimen of male virility, a masculine treat for the eye. Locke is drawn to the male form much more so than I. I knew he had to have you. He needed a challenge. Well, fuck, we both did. So I made him a bet.”
“A bet?”
“Oh yes, a friendly bet, is all. With money involved, of course. I told him if he bought you he would not be able to tame you. I gave him ten days. It’s not enough time for anyone to be fully trained, you see, but Locke was mesmerized and oh how he surprised me when he took the bet. Me? I think it’s rather impossible to tame someone like you. You’d need restraints first and foremost and I can see right now he hasn’t even gotten to that part and we’re half-way through the bet. I’ve read your file. You haven’t even consented to this. But Locke, well, he’s a good-natured guy, and smitten. And too proud to say no to the likes of me.”
Wulf blinked, trying to take it all in. Malik supplied a lot of information quite quickly. But the worst was how he talked about Locke, not like a friend but like everything for them was a joke. And as if he thought Locke was flawed in some irritating way. Locke did not seem that shallow to Wulf at all.
And here he was defending him in his own mind.
“I—I don’t understand why you’re here. In my room,” Wulf said slowly. His bed shifted as Malik hit the side again with his knees.
“Just checking up. The bet is for a lot of money. I wanted to see you for myself.”
“In the middle of the night.” It was not a question.
“Why yes. What better time than to find you alone and with all your defenses down?”
The smoke from the master’s cigarette curled up Wulf’s nose and down his throat. He suppressed a cough. He’d never smoked, though some of his comrades had. Still, he’d never gotten used to the smell.
Before Wulf could respond further, Malik said in a drawling tone, “So, tell me your thoughts, your desires, your deepest dreams, my handsome Wulf.”
“Wh-what?”
“Has no one ever asked you that before?”
“Could you just—leave?”
“Oh, I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, my boy. I’m the master here.” Another laugh. “Just so there’s no confusion, and I’m sure Locke has made it clear to you, you don’t get to tell anyone else what to do. You obey orders.”
Wulf sat very still with his palms flat against his thighs on top of the covers. He glanced at his phone only inches away. But the collar pressed against the sides of his neck reminded him he was told by a master not to touch it.
He thought very hard about what any other slave in his predicament might do. Offer themselves, of course. That was how they were trained. To willingly submit to any master who asked it of them. Those were the rules. But those slaves were Palace slaves, not yet owned by any single master.
Wulf was Locke’s. He was already owned. What were the rules if you belonged to someone? If you were theirs and theirs alone? If he was Locke’s property, then did he have to obey Malik?
“Well, you haven’t answered me yet, slave,” Malik said.
“About what?”
“Ah, dreams and desires, those elusive phantoms that make up a life, or at the very least, a fantasy life.”
Wulf stayed silent.
“Have you none?” the master asked.
“I belong to Locke. That is my life.”
“So it would seem, but I’m afraid, my boy, it is only temporary. The bet ends in five days. You are nobody, not even a consenting slave. You were slated for death days ago. When Locke loses the bet, you’ll be sold. Your original file will show you are a One-Night Thrall. It will be a death camp for you, no doubt about it.”
Days ago, Wulf had not cared. He’d wanted to die. He might even have begged for it. Though he did not want to be at the Palace, he’d changed somewhat, for deep inside he did want to live. Maybe he always had. And Locke had assured him he would not be killed. He’d believe him. But now, how could this be? A bet? For money? Was this all any of this was for Locke?
“So before all that horrible dying stuff, wouldn’t it be nice to share a dream or two? I’m here. I’m listening.”
This was not a friendly chat. Wulf heard the cruelty dripping from he words even as Malik kept his voice light and teasing.
In the war, Wulf had not allowed himself too many dreams. He only wanted to get through the day alive. And he wanted to be proper, and seen as proper. That was it. He read a lot, but did not ever wish himself to be those characters in the books. Only to get through his day, every day.
Now, it was strange. Malik spoke of dreams and desires and after seeing the solid figure of Locke unwavering before him, his mind instantly went to the Palace sculpture gardens and re-visited the images there of perfect and posed humans, so controlled, so calm, coolly accepting of their moments in the sun, on a pedestal, admired by all who passed by.
Air passed through his nostrils in a puff of loud air.
Dreams and desires were for fools.
When Wulf was silent too long, Malik leaned forward until his knees slid up and onto the bed. He knelt there, looking down at Wulf, his cigarette dangling between thin, firm lips. By the dim exterior lighting that slid through the big windows Wulf could see his eyes, a darkly, dangerous gray.
The man was not handsome like Locke, nor as refined, but his features were not unpleasant, a wide gaze, short cropped brown hair, and prominent cheekbones. His form was lean. He held himself up, looking down his nose at Wulf, body in perfect balance.
“There’s no point in fighting. He will sell you either way, you know. Unless, well, unless you become an overnight prodigy, a genius pleasure slave like no other. But we both know that’s not gonna happen.” Malik spoke softly, as if he were sorry.
“If you want to win the bet, why are you telling me to stop fighting? Why are you telling me how to help Locke win?” Wulf’s body went cold. A week ago he would have died for his cause. Now, so much weakness. Was he really afraid of dying?
“Oh, I don’t care about the bet. But my friend has lost every bet we’ve ever shared together. Maybe I want him to see this through. Maybe I want him to be happy for a little while.”
It didn’t sound right.
“But you have to know,” Malik continued, “so you’re not disappointed in the end, he doesn’t care. This was never a deal with the intention for him to keep you. Ours was a gentlemen’s bet on a boring day when we both needed some excitement. Surely, that you can understand.”
Malik’s head bobbed. Wulf felt something sharp brush across his forearm where it lay against the bed spread. Ash. The cigarette, nearly forgotten, was burning up.
Malik’s arm came up. A hand moved toward Wulf. He wanted to flinch. Instead, he forced himself to stay still.
Fingertips brushed against Wulf’s shoulder, then his chest. Not even Locke had taken such liberties with him yet.
“Exquisite,” Malik said. “If he truly does lose you by the tenth day, I would love to try you out for myself.”
The hand moved up to cup the right side of Wulf’s jaw. Wulf felt his own muscle move there, alongside the bone and up into his cheek. He had to concentrate to keep himself from swallowing the bile that came up in his throat.
Malik’s palm was cool, rough. Not like Locke’s gentle, quick touches when he’d helped Wulf up from the floor the first time he’d fallen, or helping him to regain his balance in the training room, or the warmth of his grip, slow and steady, when he held him through his second bout with the collar that had been turned off, and another
fall.
He did not like this man’s coldness. But then, he didn’t have to. He was a slave. Such preferences did not come into his reality anymore. They were dismissed, unconsidered, invalid.
“I don’t have to remove the covers to know what you look like. I’ve seen the majesty of your body. Everyone talks of you in the halls. As you pass by, no eye stays away from gazing upon you.”
“But that is all they can do. I belong to Locke.” Again, he wasn’t sure of the rules, but if he was wrong about this one, he had nothing to lose.
“He won’t know, though. That I am here. That I have told you some of his secrets. That I have spared you distress by telling you of our bet, and that neither one of us really cares. For you won’t tell him, will you? That I admire and want you? That even now I could fuck you into this mattress and your screams would fall on deaf ears.”
Wulf’s chest tightened. Would this man actually rape him? “H—how do you know he isn’t watching right now?”
“I checked. Locke is asleep in his comfortable bed. For the time being. It gives us time.”
The hand moved down to Wulf’s chest again.
A whisper this time. “What is your desire? You should have something of it before you fail Locke entirely, before you die.”
But not with you, Wulf thought.
Inside, he began to shake. But he kept his hands on top of the covers pressed down hard, steadying himself.
Malik leaned in further until Wulf could feel the man’s smoky breath upon his face. The cigarette had gone out, fallen and lost in the wrinkles of the covers.
As the stranger’s head moved down, so did his hand, brushing the tension of Wulf’s flat stomach. He balanced on his knees. His free hand rose. In it, Wulf saw his leash. He’d taken it off before bed and hung it on the wall overhead. Malik had it now. And Malik was fastening it to his collar.
Wulf’s blood ran cold.
Lips pressed lightly on Wulf’s forehead. A kiss, cold and thin, cruel and thoughtless, but right at the juncture just above the eyebrows, a vulnerable spot where people touched out of affection, not disinterest.
There was no affection in Malik. None.
Wulf’s fingers curled into fists. But he was afraid. The collar sat its weight on him. Was it on or off? Could Malik control its switches? Was Wulf brave enough to find out now that Malik held the leash?
It was attached now, but loose. As close as he was, Malik could yank it in a heartbeat.
Wulf could not control his shoulders from hunching. His legs bent to give himself more balance. He shrank back.
Malik’s face moved forward, so close, staring at him, breathing on him, smelling of smoke and some sort of dusky cologne.
Malik’s hand came up and touched the top of Wulf’s head. Suddenly, the fingers wove into his hair, clenching, gripping. Wulf drew back.
“You do not get to do that.”
“I am doing nothing,” Wulf whispered.
“You are pulling away, my dear, rejecting. Hasn’t Locke taught you anything?”
The grip on Wulf’s hair tightened until Wulf had to tilt his head back to get relief.
He wanted to scream. I thought you were waiting for Locke to lose your bet.
Malik’s hand followed the motion, tugging harder. “Oh but you will stay still, won’t you? If Locke has taught you nothing, that collar has. Am I right? And if you don’t perform well, and willingly, especially in this way, Locke will truly have no reason to keep you. Either way, you will probably be sold, but on the slim chance that you do well, perhaps your life can be extended. Or I could buy you after his failure and train you myself.”
Wulf’s glare tightened. His cheeks puffed out as he tried to control his breathing.
Malik came closer, lowering his head. His breath pulsed lightly against Wulf’s lips. His face came ever closer.
Denial crashed through Wulf’s system. But the risk-- He could take it. He would take it! He clamped down hard on his internal muscles, shut his eyes tight and brought both hands up between them, shoving Malik back as hard as he could.
Malik gave a grunt, but that was nothing compared to the roar of his own voice as all his muscles began to cramp. Then came the pain, incredible surges of white hot electric fire stimulating his entire nervous system.
Wulf smelled burning, but not cigarette smoke this time. A taste of ash filled his mouth. He could not stop the screams that squeezed from aching throat muscles. He could not stop his body from convulsing.
Something hard hit him. The floor, perhaps, for there had been a brief moment he thought he was falling. He no longer knew his body, where it began, where it ended, only endless clouds of pain comprised his being, a torrent of red and black and oozing thick dark green.
It had never gone this far before. Always, before this point, the pain vanished. When Locke had been there, his soft hands held him as he regained his senses. Locke’s warm chest had pressed briefly against his shoulders and back. His low voice had brought a stylized comfort that, even after only five days, Wulf had grown accustomed to. You are safe.
Where was that voice now?
His body arched up, the pain becoming a white reality of no return. A howling sound filled the area around him. He could not see or think, but he could still hear, still feel—it was too much.
When the screaming of his body and his world grew deafening, only then did blackness descend.
*
Wulf woke in a daze. At first his eyelids would not open. They felt glued shut. He tried to lift his hand to wipe away the stickiness but a stabbing in his forearm and bicep forced his hand back down under its own weight.
He was weak as a baby.
He shifted his legs. His thighs tried to cramp. After a few moments, his body aches receded and he could move easier. He rubbed his eyes and opened them. Sunlight streamed into them, stinging. When he tried to sit up, his stomach recoiled. Nausea swept through him.
He turned his head to look at the time. Locke would be arriving soon. He had to get up. But he couldn’t muster the energy.
He managed to turn onto his side, pulling the covers with him. To his horror, as he turned he saw his leash curve about his body and begin to tighten.
Nothing happened.
Blinking, he stared at it before grasping it and wadding it into a ball against his chest. As he shifted his body to a more comfortable position, he heard something clatter against the floor. His phone.
He shut his eyes, sighing against the pillow. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t be needing it anyway in a few more days.
The next time he woke, Locke stood by the side of the bed. All Wulf saw at first was his black-clad thighs and groin. He lifted his eyelids up to the man’s chest before they closed of their own accord.
Voices.
“His leash must have gotten tangled about him in his sleep and activated the collar.”
“I only have the collar set to go off if he exits the room. He is allowed to take the leash off in his room. For some reason he didn’t.”
“Well, it must have been set wrong.”
“I also didn’t have the collar on high. Only on the lowest setting.”
“Well, last night he experienced the high setting for at least a minute in duration. I can’t say how long for sure, but his symptoms speak to at least that long. But he checks out fine. He’ll be tired for a day, though.”
Wulf realized the doctor had come into his room. It was his voice, his strangely cool demeanor that Wulf recognized. His covers had been pulled back. Gloved hands had probed. He remembered waking to it, feeling it but not understanding for long moments.
Wulf shuddered.
“Are you in pain?”
Wulf realized he heard Locke’s voice. The master was addressing him. He couldn’t yet answer.
“Wulf? How did this happen.”
“No,” Wulf finally managed, voice hoarse. “I don’t feel pain anymore. Just aches.” He reached for the leash he’d bound up by his chest and couldn’
t find it. Panic started to roll through him.
Locke said softly, “I took the leash off. No need to worry.”
Wulf breathed out, body relaxing. It was the tone of voice he responded to as much as the words.
“Do you remember what happened?”
Wulf’s body drew in on itself. He was shivering but before he could actually acknowledge the coldness coming up inside, Locke pulled the blanket over him.
“There. There.” Locke said it twice.
“How did this happen, Wulf? Do you remember?”
Wulf shook his head, eyes opening slowly to take in the view of his master hovering over him, bending until he could finally see his face, those soft but dark eyes, the brown hair shining in the sunlight from the bared windows, his pink mouth down-turned in what looked like concern.
“I set the collar on low. After our scare yesterday, and we found out I’d forgotten to turn it on, I remember carefully setting it to low.”
Wulf wanted to believe him. He did not want to think Locke was lying. But this man was also nobody to him. A stranger as of five days ago. A master of pleasure slaves. This man had bought him on a bet. This man was a great sinner. But that voice… He could detect not one hint of dishonesty. In the tone he heard, unspoken, again and again: You are safe.
Locke reached out. He set his hand on the side of Wulf’s head and gently stroked, fingers combing through his hair.
Wulf cringed. Jerked. “Don’t.”
Locke’s hand lifted and cool air filled in where the hand had been. Wulf missed that warmth. But he couldn’t take it. Malik’s touch. Now this. If everything Locke had told him was a lie, he didn’t want any touch. Or any reassurance. He was to die anyway.
But a part of him would not believe it. Locke had had no reason to lie. Malik had reason, though.
Wulf wanted to ask Locke about the bet but the words would not form.
“Rest,” he heard his master say. “Rest.”
Grateful for the fact that he did not have to move right now, Wulf did just that.
*
Every time he woke during the day, Locke was there with food or water or both. On through the dusk, Locke never left his side.
The Slave Palace: Wulf and Locke (Kingdom of Slaves Book 1) Page 13