by Desiree Holt
There had never been much to love about my existence, so the land had been a thing I’d latched onto, stealing moments of peace from its tranquil whispers, a sense of belonging amongst its cornfields and orchards.
The master’s house stood in the center of it all, a two-story colonial complete with columns and glittering fountains, bright flowers at its feet and navy blue shutters flanking its windows. Hounds patrolled this area heavily, multiple sets of eyes falling on my escort and me as we passed.
I’d never been inside the master’s house before, so it didn’t occur to me that we were going in until my escort climbed the steps that led to the two large doors of the front entrance. Involuntarily, I paused in my tracks.
Again, the urge to run struck me. Again, something wiser in my being overrode it. There were so many Hounds nearby that I’d be taken down before I made it ten feet.
When I found that I was rooted to the spot, I was shoved forward. I stumbled but got the message. And when the double doors that led into Bo Benedict’s, Master of the Midwest Dogfights, house swung open, I had no choice but to swallow my fear and step inside.
Chapter 8
The feeling of displacement was instantaneous. If I had to describe the interior of Bo Benedict’s home in one word, that word would be opulent.
The front doors led into a foyer containing dual staircases that curved around the sides of the room like quarter moons. A chandelier dripping crystals hung between them. A plush red runner lay beneath my feet, my shoes sinking down into it like a mattress. Even the air smelled expensive, the fresh flowers in large vases renting a floral scent, and the various exotic fabrics that made up the upholstery lending another.
I felt dirty standing there. Out of place. Somehow… less. An insightful part of me supposed perhaps this was the point.
Paid for with the blood of Dogs, whispered a voice in my head. All of it. Every bit. You may have dried blood and dirt under your nails, but you’re not the one who’s dirty.
My stomach twisted. I realized I’d been standing stuck again when I was shoved once more from behind. I stumbled forward and was led between the quarter moon staircases, around to the right, and down a hallway hung with paintings that were surely worth more than my life. I’d never seen anything like it.
At the end of this hallway stood another large door. With my sensitive ears, I could hear five heartbeats on the other side. Oddly enough, I recognized one of them as belonging to Branson, and a certain relief filled me that was likely misplaced.
The Hound that was leading me knocked on the door and was told to enter. I was ushered inside.
Sure enough, Branson was within… along with my master, Bo Benedict, and whom I could only assume was Branson’s master. Of course, two guard Hounds stood nearby the floor-to-ceiling glass window that made up the west wall, pretending not to notice every shift and subtlety.
The room itself fit the theme of the rest of the property, large and filled with items that had been shipped from faraway lands, from the best of artisans… paid for with the blood of Dogs.
There was a wide oak desk behind which sat Bo Benedict. Benedict wore tan slacks and a white cotton shirt that opened at the neck, exposing some of the dark curly hair on his wide chest. The chair he sat in was brown leather, his posture relaxed and full of propriety. His gaze was sharp and blue as a summer sky, his face admittedly attractive, a direct juxtaposition to what I knew was an empty, cruel soul. There sat the Wolf who’d owned me for the past near decade, the man for whom I jumped in a hole in the earth and fought others to the death.
Facing this desk were two more leather chairs, and in one of these chairs sat who could only be another master, judging by the way the man carried himself. His hair was a dirty blond, his eyes a dull green that sparkled in a way I didn’t appreciate as they fell over me. His tongue flicked out over his lips, and he gave me a wolfish grin I pretended not to notice.
Beside him, hands folded behind his back, stood Branson. His gaze met mine only briefly, and I tried to draw something from that look, but could not. My heart was pounding so quickly now that I thought it might burst through my chest.
“This is her?” asked the master that was not my own. His cool green eyes ran me over again and again. I was careful to keep my lips from twisting.
Bo Benedict reclined in his big chair, the leather giving the faintest of creaks as he did so. “That’s her,” he confirmed. “Rook the Rabid. Took out your bear last night in The Pit, though by the looks of her, it wasn’t easy going.”
I stood in silence. A Dog did not speak before her master unless spoken to. They continued on their conversation as though I were no more than a statue that had been rolled in for their appraisal.
“So you agree what I’ve offered is a fair price?” asked the master whose name I did not know, and who was apparently trying to purchase me.
My eyes went to Branson but flicked away quickly and resumed their lock on the plush floor.
“It’s an okay price,” replied Benedict. He folded his fingers together, studying me. “I suppose she’s worth a bit more now that she’s beaten The Bear. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Malley?”
Ah. So Branson’s master was Marlin Malley, one of the wealthiest Wolves involved in the fights. His pack ran the entire northeast coast, and put on the championship fights in Philadelphia every year.
There was no doubt Bo Benedict was aware of this, and being so, did not intend to give me up without milking every bit from Malley.
“I took her most recent victory into consideration while determining my offer,” replied Marvin Malley. “And females are never worth as much as the males. You know this, Benedict.”
There was a silence that felt thick, a suspended impasse.
Then, Mr. Malley said, “I’d be willing to add an extra grand.”
Bo Benedict laughed suddenly and heartily, his eyes lighting up with amusement. He looked at Mr. Malley as though he’d just told one of the funniest jokes he’d ever heard.
In response to this behavior, Malley stood stiffly from his chair. “Ah, yes,” he said, giving Benedict a small incline of the head. “I was warned that you were highly unreasonable. Good day, Mr. Benedict.”
Malley snapped his fingers, and Branson fell in line behind him, along with one of the Hounds that must belong to Malley. He made it almost to the door before Benedict stopped him.
“Now, hold on,” Benedict said. “Is this how you always negotiate? I can’t imagine that works out well for you. You can still have Rook.”
Malley paused, looked back over his shoulder.
“You can have her for ten thousand more, though,” Benedict said. “Not one.”
Now it was Malley’s turn to laugh, and he did so with a luster I suspected was only meant to match Benedict’s. The reason these men made so much money was because Dogs were cheap. What Benedict was asking was absurd.
“Good day, sir,” Malley said, and continued his exit.
He was stopped in his tracks when Branson surprised everyone in the room by grabbing Malley by his forearm. There was a certain alarm behind Branson’s dark eyes that made my stomach flip. Once Branson realized what he’d done, he released his hold as if he’d touched something hot, and apologized profusely. He leaned forward and whispered something so swiftly and quietly into Malley’s ear that even with my Wolf hearing I couldn’t make it out.
Whatever Branson said made Malley pull back and give him an odd look. His sea green eyes flicked to me, and a slow smile pulled up his lips. Something about it made my blood go cold.
Malley turned back to face Benedict, who sat calmly and confidently behind his big desk in his big chair. “Ten thousand on top, that’s your proposal?” Marvin Malley asked.
Bo Benedict smiled like a wolf that has just found its way into a henhouse. “That’s right.”
Malley looked back at Branson. “You’re sure?” he asked.
Branson nodded. My erratic heart skipped a beat.
Malley retur
ned his attention to Benedict. “All right, sir,” he said. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Benedict stood from his leather chair and held out his hand. The two men shook on it.
“And you’ve got yourself another Dog,” replied Benedict.
With this, I’d found myself in the hands of a new master.
* * *
Stepping back into the fading light of the day and out of Bo Benedict’s house felt like crawling free of a dark tunnel. It was strange, because up until yesterday the nicest building I’d ever been in was the Dog’s Head Hotel with Branson. Benedict’s house made the Dog’s Head look like a rundown hole in the wall, and yet, exiting it seemed to make it easier to breathe.
This might have had something to do with the fact that I knew all those fine things had been paid for with the death of Dogs just like me, and how the Hounds roamed the place like armed ghosts hadn’t helped any.
Marvin Malley, my new owner, snapped his fingers at me as we crossed to where a car was waiting for him at the end of the driveway. I came like the good little Dog that I was, and stood silent under his additional observation.
“We leave at sundown,” Malley told me, his tone dismissive. “Your next fight will be in a week. Will you be ready?”
Every Dog knew that there was only one right answer when their master asked this question. I nodded. “Yes, sir,” I said.
Malley hardly waited for my response before opening the rear door of the black vehicle and climbing in. He looked at Branson. “Fifteen,” Malley said to him. “I’ll need that in writing. I expect you can get her to the trains on time.”
With this, he left, taking his Hounds with him.
That left Branson and me standing at the edge of the grounds that made up the front of Benedict’s estate. Once the car carrying Malley had pulled out of sight, I turned toward Branson.
My mouth fell open to question him, but like a flash, he slipped his shirt over his head, slid his pants off, and shifted into a Wolf. Then, he shot away as if his tail was on fire.
I mumbled a curse, removed my own clothes, shifted, and followed after.
* * *
He was here somewhere, I just didn’t know where exactly. His scent was strong between the trees, his signature already familiar to me in a serious way. I lifted my nose to the air and inhaled deeply, trying to pinpoint his location. I was close, and would find him soon. I wasn’t the strongest Wolf in any litter, but I was fast and could track better than any Wolf I’d ever met.
Apparently, Branson was not the wait-and-be-sought type, because as I zeroed in on his location, he burst through a gap in the trees, leaping through the air like a panther with his enormity and jet-black coat.
I twisted and darted forward, getting just out of his range so that he landed on the earth before me, his form blotting out the dapples of sunlight that had made it through the trees. I stood before him with my head lowered between my paws, my hindquarters coiled with power.
“Fifteen?” I asked him telepathically. “What did Malley mean when he said fifteen?”
His dark eyes rolled in his head, a gesture that was recognizably human even in this form. “Don’t concern yourself, little Wolf. You’ll be near me now. That’s all that matters.”
My response to this was to release the power coiled in my muscles and pounce forward, my jaws yawning wide as I latched onto the fur around his neck, not hard enough to do any real damage, of course, but to demonstrate my feelings about this answer.
Branson’s deep chuckle rang through my head, and he shook me off the way a parent might push away a rambunctious toddler.
After a little more roughhousing, and no answers from him, I made a decision about how I could get what I wanted, and acted before I could reconsider. It would be highly abnormal behavior for me, but whatever was happening between Branson and I was highly abnormal indeed.
I tossed my head back and ran my tongue out over my lips. Then I shifted back into my human form and stood before him as naked as the day I was born.
His attention was immediate. I’m not a vain Wolf, and if I’d been born with any vanity, the jaws of other Dogs had sliced it out of me long ago. Scars crisscrossed my legs, my stomach, my back. They marred my arms, and one even cut down the left side of my face, bisecting my eyebrow and kissing my chin. Despite this, I was an attractive creature, especially in my human form. My hair was a shiny chestnut that fell down nearly to my waist, and my eyes were a striking hazel that shifted shades depending on my mood. My lips were full, inviting, and my cheekbones were set at perfect angles.
My body, though scarred, was corded with muscle, a feature most Dogs earned through blood and sweat. Though this may sound like bragging, the truth is, my beauty has been a curse, a terrible misfortune piled upon a slew of other misfortunes. Terrible things had been done to my body, both in human and in Wolf form. In fact, the first time I got traded to a new master was because I’d killed one of the Dogs who’d violated me, ripped his throat out while he slept.
I’d been eight years old at the time.
So judge this self-description with these realities in mind. Physical beauty is coveted amongst most creatures, but the truth is, in certain situations, it’s the equivalent to being born with the barrel of a gun aimed at your head.
In this particular situation, however, my nudity served its purpose. Branson shifted into human form in the blink of an eye, and strode over to me as if planning to capture me and never let go.
I backed away from him, my hands going up, a grin lifting my lips as I saw the heat that flooded into his dark eyes. They lit up Wolf-Gold, and something warm stirred in my stomach.
“What did Malley mean when he said fifteen?” I repeated.
A low, rumbling growl sounded from Branson’s throat, his dark gaze wandering over me like an explorer.
I placed a hand on my bare hip. “You’ll have to use your words, darlin’,” I said.
He looked like he really, really didn’t want to answer, but when I sighed and turned on my heels, giving him a great view of my backside, he spoke quickly. “Fifteen more fights,” he said. “On top of my hundred. I agreed to fifteen more fights so that he would purchase you.”
Any cleverness I might be feeling went cold, the air rushing out of me. My hand came up to cover my mouth. Silence hung for a moment while I absorbed this, the sounds of the forest filling the gap.
For the longest time, words would not find me. I could only stare at the Wolf who’d done the unthinkable for me, could only stand stuck and allow my aching heart to beat.
“Why?” I heard myself mumble. My eyes were burning. It’d been so long since I’d cried that it took me a while to realize this was due to tears.
Branson lifted his large shoulders in a shrug and let them drop again. His deep voice was low, his eyes full of need when he looked at me. “I told you, little Wolf. I don’t really know.” Another shrug. “What’s done is done.”
This was the point when I gave myself over to him, because it seemed the only thing there was to do.
Chapter 9
I spared one last glance at the hut where I’d lived for most of the past decade, the hole I returned to on all the occasions I managed to make it out of The Pit. The place held no nostalgia or hidden meanings. It was simply the shedding of a shell.
I had no belongings. The clothes I’d been wearing as one of Bo Benedict’s Dogs had been replaced with those that matched the colors of Marvin Malley’s house. Black slacks, black boots, and a grey t-shirt were my new fashion. Everything else, like toiletry items and food bowls, would be distributed in my new camp.
There were no goodbyes to be said, no one to say them. The other Dogs in camp could care less about the trades between masters. I wondered if I’d ever make it back to Peculiar, Missouri, this tiny dot in the center of the continental United States. I wondered if I’d see the ocean for the first time. I wondered why there was a terrible feeling of foreboding swirling around in my gut, and at this entire t
urn of events in general. Just the previous evening, I’d been preparing to die in The Pit. I’d almost been glad for it. Now, the future seemed so uncertain, and that was almost worse.
The sun was lowering over the horizon, the shadows lengthening as I passed over the land. The train station was five miles west, and like the other Dogs in Malley’s camp, I was responsible for getting myself there before departure. I was signed, sealed, and paid for, and I had to make sure I got delivered.
In the way he had, Branson appeared beside me, and we walked together in silence for a bit, every step taking us further away from the heart of Bo Benedict’s land. Once I boarded that train, I would be stepping into a world unknown.
“You look frightened, little Wolf,” Branson said to me when we were near enough to hear the trains skating over metal tracks in the distance.
I glanced around. We weren’t the only Dogs making our way, and I knew our strange and sudden new relationship would draw attention. As a general rule, Dogs didn’t form romantic relationships. We slept with whom we wanted, when we wanted, but the partnership ended there. The reasons for this were obvious considering our short lifespans and lifestyles.
I realized Branson was still waiting for an answer and found myself responding with a raw honesty that was perhaps more frightening than anything I’d faced to date. “I’m always afraid,” I admitted.
As he processed these words, his wide chest swelled a bit and his dark eyes lit up Wolf-Gold. Not with lust, as they had been in the forest, but with a protectiveness that was almost intoxicating.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he told me, and even though this was an impossible, ridiculous sentiment considering who and what we were, I wanted to believe him.
Dear God, how I wanted to believe him.
* * *
Most of the Dog fighting circuit travelled to matches by train. Not passenger train, but freight, like the possessions that we were. There was always one cart at the very front of the locomotive that held the master, and was fitted with all the luxuries he demanded.