Her knees felt unnaturally heavy and rubbery as she forced herself to wobble toward the bedroom. If only she could faint. Fainting would be good right about now. Why couldn’t she faint?
A few feet from the bed she stopped. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears. She couldn’t catch her breath. Instinct screamed at her to run but she couldn’t move her rooted legs.
At least this master was nice. And sane. And handsome. Her body had already reacted to him. How horrible could the experience be?
Her few fumbling forays into sex had never been the spectacular sessions films portrayed. The main thing was not to get hurt. So as long as he didn’t hurt her, sex wouldn’t be so bad. She kept telling herself that, hoping she’d believe it.
CHAPTER THREE
An air of dread clung to her as she stared fixedly at his bed, her eyes glassy. She chanted softly under her breath, “Okay. I’m okay. ‘M okay.”
Dzer-Jin hadn’t been planning on touching her while she was still healing. Apparently her first master would not have shown similar consideration, for she seemed to expect him to ravish her the moment she touched the sheets. Or maybe the mere thought of his presence in a small, shared space frightened her.
Females generally considered him either intimidating or beddable. Sometimes both. Which way a Tellurian would find him he didn’t know. But this one’s reaction looked headed toward intimidating. And she didn’t even know him.
“You needn’t sleep in my bed if it terrifies you.”
Her eyes darted his way and the haunted expression stamped upon her countenance inexplicably made the inside of his chest ache. He shouldn’t care that much about her state of mind. She was only a pet, after all.
“Won’t…won’t you be angry, Master?”
“Not at all. I don’t have another bed, but you’re welcome to anywhere else you can find.”
She dropped to all fours on the carpet, bowed her head, and pressed her lips against the top of his boot. “Thank you, Master.”
A burning surge of power radiated through him at the sight of her on her knees, a supplicant before him. He closed his eyes and fought down the hard excitement rising in his groin. “Enough of that. Get out and let me rest.”
She scrambled to her feet and bounded away. When he opened his eyes, the bedroom—his bedroom, as it normally was, with him as sole occupant—felt surprisingly empty. And that irritated him.
This was how he preferred his life. Solitary. Unfettered. His flat was a sanctuary from the uncertain nature of his livelihood. His rooms always felt safe. They never felt empty before.
Fists clenched, he marched the bedroom’s perimeter, the urge to destroy something uppermost in his thoughts. It had been too long since his last release, that was all. He ran himself like a machine, but he was only flesh—and male, with all the needs of his gender and desires of his kind. As he prepared for bed, he resolved to set a future date for I’eke to visit.
In the morning, when he couldn’t find his pet, he wondered vaguely if she’d put her newly-acquired knowledge of purple buttons to good use.
CHAPTER FOUR
He hadn’t double-locked the door, thus it would have opened had she hit the exit button. He stumbled into the kitchen and steeped a pot of bala. So she had run off. Well, good luck to her. That first master of hers had messed her up but good. She deserved some freedom.
She didn’t have the right temperament to be a slave anyway. And he hadn’t been meaning to purchase a pet. Truth be told, he’d lost more money at the gambling tables on Rigel 9 so it wasn’t the coin he’d miss. He wouldn’t miss anything, what was he thinking?
He had just finished pouring a full mug of the hot brew when the closet door creaked. Instantly on guard, he set the carafe beside the mug and, bare feet moving swift and silent, he crossed to the closet of the main room.
Another creak broke the quiet, but this time the closet door partially opened. And he recognized orange hair.
“Is that coffee? I think I smell coffee,” the girl was mumbling to herself. She leaned out over a cushion he recognized from his couch and blinked up at him, squinting in the daylight. “Hi, Master. Is that coffee?”
He opened the closet door all the way. She had made herself a rudimentary fort of cushions inside his closet.
“This is where you slept?”
“Yes, Master. You said anywhere.”
“That I did. Right. No, I don’t know what ‘coffee’ is, I made bala. But you may have a cup just the same. Put my cushions back first.”
“Yes, Master.”
By the time she came to the kitchen, wrapped in her towel, he had a mug ready for her. She took a sip and grimaced.
“Do you like it?”
“Do you have anything to make it sweeter, Master?”
He passed her the small pot of iyn.
“How about milk? Is there milk on this planet?”
“We have milk.” He retrieved the metal pitcher from the icebox.
“It’s sorta…green.”
“Yes.”
“It’s not from a cow, is it?”
“Cow?”
“Never mind. Thank you, Master. Please pretend I said master before, too,” she added as she stirred the milk and sweetener into her bala. “I’m sorry, I’m not awake yet. I think that was the first full night of sleep I’ve had in the last four months. It was glorious.” She smiled at him. It was a nice smile, the sort that made him want to return it; he gave in to the impulse.
“I shall recommend my closet to all my future guests.”
She laughed. “You do that, Master.”
He watched her quaff her drink. Her laugh was quite musical. He wondered if she screamed as prettily.
He could think of no other reason why her previous owner would deliberately have kept her in agony. Not when one had the option to be buoyed by such cheerfulness. But perhaps she had never shown that master her smile. Theirs had been a battle of wills and hatred.
“How much do you know about the role of a slave? Beyond obedience.”
A gutted sadness crossed her face. “There’s more?”
Since her first master never earned her obedience, he supposed her lack of teaching should come as no surprise. “We’ll just worry about the public behaviors. When we go out, you walk two steps behind me at all times.”
“I can go outside with you?” She sounded happily surprised.
“Yes. But you may speak to no one but me, and only when I’ve spoken to you first.”
“Good to know being annoyingly condescending isn’t just an Earth thing. Next?”
“When I sit, you sit at my feet.”
“Barbaric, but doable. That’s just for outside, right?”
He snorted, amused at her freely offered comments. “What happened to your fear of me?”
Her eyes widened, large as satellites. Dismay coated her face, her voice, and radiated from the feeble actions of her imploring hands as she quickly set down her mug and dropped to her knees. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Master.”
A pang of something that might have been regret, if he suffered from those types of feelings, forced him to quickly grasp her wrists and raise her to her feet. “That was a clumsy attempt at humor. Ignore me.” He returned her mug to her hand, waiting until she had a steady clasp of the handle before releasing it. “Yes, these rules only apply in public.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to forget my place. I’m not used to—”
“Enough,” he interrupted her. “In private I prefer you unafraid. Speak as you like.”
Her eyes shone as she looked up at him. “Thank you, Master.” She took a sip of bala. “So I get to be a cat-type-of-pet in private.” The words meant nothing to him but they amused her. Another sip. “Anything else?”
“Technically you don’t raise your eyes in public, as direct eye contact from a slave can be taken as an insult. However, since the redress for such an insult is to demand an apology from the master, and no one will dare challenge me, feel
free to look at whatever you like.”
She smiled. “Cool.”
The thoughts that smile engendered were anything but cool. She was so free in displaying her emotions. Her warm emotions. She just did not have the mental armor for this life.
His gaze wandered to her towel. Nor wearable armor either. He watched the way her full breasts pressed against the taut cloth as she breathed. She must not have wanted to put the shelter gown back on and he didn’t blame her. But he could whisk that towel from her body and have her pinned to the floor between one breath and the next.
The thought made his fingers itch to do precisely that. Excitement surged in his groin. Muscles tensed, ready to spring, while fire swirled at the base of his spine. Heart beating with the thrilling speed he normally associated with a job, he grabbed the bala steeper and went to clean it. Anything to get his back to her. So she couldn’t read his thoughts in the growing bulge at the front of his trousers.
“You need clothes.” The statement sounded odd, out of place. Or perhaps just the way his voice rasped as he said it. He cleared his throat. “A vivid green would complement your hair.” That sounded more natural.
“Could I have a tunic and trousers like you, Master?”
“Gowns are more typical for female slaves. Easier access. I suppose that’s why you don’t like them.” He looked over his shoulder to see her nod, biting her lip. “Fine. We’ll trouser you then.”
She rewarded him with another bright smile. He didn’t care how prettily she cried. Nothing could improve upon that smile.
“I don’t wear animal fur, though. Master. If that’s okay. I’d rather not wear leather either but you seem to be more in leather than cloth—which looks really good on you, I must say—so maybe there aren’t that many options but if I can at least avoid fur…. You’re looking at me like I’m speaking gibberish.”
He raised an eyebrow and slowly stated, “You don’t wear leather. Or fur.”
“Uh. No?”
“Why not?”
“It’s…an attitude left over from Earth.” She waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Forget it. Sorry.”
Wondering what the point was of protesting clothing, he asked, “You are anti-warmth?”
“Anti-cruelty.”
Both his eyebrows rose at that. One might as well protest the need to eat. Cruelty happened. It would always happen. It pretty much had to happen.
“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking.” She sighed. “I’m insane, right? But don’t you think everything would be better if everyone were kind to everybody?”
“A foolish concept.” He snorted and returned to cleansing the steeper. “It’s an impossibility.”
“But it’s an ideal worth striving for, don’t you think? Well, no, you wouldn’t think that. Not on this world.” Her voice started to sound choked. “Sorry. Master,” she added, a swift afterthought.
He turned in time to catch a glimpse of reddened, watery eyes before she ducked her head and stared at the floor.
“You needn’t be sorry for your thoughts.” He set the steeper aside and dried his hands. So emotional, this pet. Glad he didn’t have to wrestle with sentimentality himself, he edged toward her, as he would spooked quarry. “I rather like your brain. It’s… different.” He reached out to stroke the soft waves of her hair.
She turned her face to press her cheek into his palm. Her skin was damp, he guessed from fugitive tears.
“At least you didn’t say crazy.” She chuckled, but it was a quiet, sad sound.
“Protesting cruelty is not considered mad on your Earth?”
“No. Well, maybe to some…. Let’s just say I’m not utterly alone in thinking that way. Not like here.”
He didn’t wonder at her missing her planet. Not only was it her home, she clearly came from a milder civilization. He wondered how they survived.
* * *
The next few days were a whirl of activity. Buying her clothes and shoes and other necessities was only the beginning. They went for frequent walks to familiarize her with the district and, since she was interested, he bought her a big picture map of Kefu—port and city, the one with the intergalactic icons instead of words since she couldn’t read his language. Unfortunately she didn’t find the icons intuitive at all and he spent as much time explaining them as he would have teaching her the words. So he bought her a few infant books, to help her learn to read.
Her ability to operate kitchen equipment was also limited, with the exception of the bala steeper. That one she understood almost immediately. So she entertained him by prattling on about everything and nothing while he did the kitchen operating.
In the evenings, they would sit at his large viewing window with mugs of bala and he would point out relevant stars. She could claim no knowledge of them so he would tell her tales of his journeys. At first he felt uncomfortable, talking so much about himself, but she listened like she cared—enough so that sometimes he forgot she was literally a captive audience. When he remembered, her subservient position made him feel oddly hollow.
Several times he went out to the Assassins’ Guild, to finish paperwork and follow up on any possible assignments, leaving her alone in the flat. He didn’t tell her where he was going and he certainly would not take her with him. With her sensitivity to violence, she didn’t need to be exposed to that side of his life.
* * *
The first time he left her alone, she had been afraid to leave the flat. Afraid he would return early. Afraid the door wouldn't reopen when she needed to get back inside. Afraid she'd get lost. Afraid one of the sadistic denizens of this city would snatch her off the street and she'd once again be in hell.
The second time she made it down to the corner and back. So many hovercarts and pods and levels and bridges and beings. All rushing and pushing and darting and grabbing. Bright colors streaking past and things that shouldn't even be alive yelling at her.
The hustle was bearable when her master accompanied her. It was utter chaos alone. She couldn't tell what wanted to eat her from what was inert. Until she knew more about this place, merely getting out of his flat did nothing to advance her escape plans. Earth remained unattainable until she could find a way to the port where the spaceships docked.
* * *
After leaving her by herself a few times, Dzer-Jin began to wonder if she felt lonely. He liked how her eyes lit up when she saw him, and he found his flat to be even more of a haven from the world with her in it. But he was there because he wanted to be. She wasn’t. She needed her own kind.
Owning more than one slave was common, and another would provide companionship for her, but he didn’t want another one. In fact, thoughts of sharing her company made him want to claw things. But to keep her all to himself was wrong. He knew that. So when Lagi messaged him about an opportunity to take her out, and to a place designed for both of them, he accepted.
He found her on the couch with one of the literacy books he’d purchased for her, her finger tracing one of the more complex logograms. “Prepare yourself. We’re going out.”
“Oh!” Her head jerked up, eyes wide, and she smiled, but her lips wavered so he wasn’t sure if she found the prospect pleasing or daunting. “Where, Master?”
“Lagi—you remember him from the shelter?”
“I remember.”
“Lagi found a club exclusively for owners of Tellurians and signed me up. New member night’s tonight.”
Her teeth worried her bottom lip. “Will Lagi be coming, too?”
“No, he doesn’t own a Tellurian.”
She nodded. “And you’re supposed to bring your slave?”
“Yes. You’ll be among your own people for a change.” She still seemed more anxious than pleased. He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Socializing with other people from your Earth?”
“Oh, yes, Master.”
He watched excitement start to dance in her eyes and tried to ignore the dejected twinge in his chest. Ind
igestion, most likely.
CHAPTER FIVE
As it turned out, the slaves weren’t allowed to socialize. They weren’t supposed to wear clothes either, apparently. She was glad of her blouse, trousers and soft flats. The other slaves were naked and barefoot, with nothing to cover their bodies but collars, manacles and chains. Some of the cuffs were finely decorated, but she couldn’t tell if that was a tribute to the slave or the status of the owner.
The club Lagi had sent them to occupied the top floor of a very long building and encompassed many, many rooms. All of which were painted in sophisticated ocher and umber with thick drapes and plush carpets and heavy cushions. At least, that was what the lit rooms looked like. Others were too dark to tell.
Such sumptuous tones were totally wrong for the frighteningly sadistic-looking metal contraptions the rooms housed. Those devices belonged in a medieval dungeon, complete with burning torches and damp cellar stones. At least, that was her opinion. But no one was asking her.
In fact, none of the slaves would even make eye contact with her. They couldn’t share so much as a smile. She felt more isolated now than she had before she knew others from Earth were on this benighted planet. These humans were docile and broken and future echoes of what she was meant to become.
Panic surged against her ribs. In that maelstrom of negative emotion, she could identify not only her despair in her future, but her fear of dying on this world, of never seeing Earth again, and then the general icy terror of death’s nothingness. She clutched onto the only remotely reassuring thing in the room.
Her master’s hand closed over her white knuckles gripping his arm. His palm was warm and his touch gentle. She glanced up into his eyes.
“Remember, you’re with me,” he said quietly.
She nodded, gulping deep breaths of air and trying to get herself under control. He waited. Then his hand left hers to reach out, cradle her neck, and draw her close. She pressed her cheek against his chest.
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