Dragonel

by Tiegan Clyne

  Chapter Five

  The door to the shed opened and startled him awake. He lurched up from the cot in surprise as a trio of armed guards rushed in, seizing him and pushing him down onto his knees. He was quickly manacled again at the wrists and ankles, and the manacles were chained together to keep him kneeling. The chain that connected his collar to the ceiling was tightened until he was nearly pulled up off his knees, and he had to hold himself as straight as he could to keep from choking. The chain was secured in place, and then the guards left, leaving the door open.

  He waited in discomfort for several long minutes before he was joined by a handsome man in an immaculate black suit, his hands covered in black latex gloves. A leather messenger bag hung over his shoulder, the strap crossing over his broad chest. He had glossy black hair and dark eyes, and his complexion was white as milk. He looked not too unlike the Countess. Sebastian watched warily as the man approached.

  The man stood in front of him, silently gazing down into Sebastian’s face, judging what he saw and deciding accordingly. He slowly stripped off his gloves.

  “Good morning,” he greeted. His voice was a musical baritone, rich and resonant.

  “Good morning,” Sebastian ground out.

  The man smiled. He reached out and touched Sebastian’s face, examining the injuries from the guard’s attack. His fingers were gentle and light. “They were none too kind to you, I see,” he said softly.

  He croaked, “No, sir.”

  The man reached into his messenger bag and brought out a tube of medicinal cream, which he applied almost tenderly to his wounds. “My name is Christopher,” he said softly. “I am a veterinarian and cryptomorph specialist, and I will be taking care of you while you’re here. You will be under my protection as much as possible, so I can at least assure you that no more guards will be attempting to take any liberties with you.”

  Sebastian’s face and lips tingled where the cream had been applied, and the taste of mint and menthol filled his mouth. He shuddered reflexively.

  Christopher nodded his understanding. “It tastes strong, I know, but it will help you heal. It’s especially effective for dragonels.” He put the tube back into his bag. “I’m sure that you have questions. I will answer any that I can.”

  He raised himself into a crouch, balancing on his tiptoes to relieve the pressure around his throat. It was a precarious position and difficult to maintain, but it helped him speak. “Did they kill the orderly called Michael?”

  Christopher frowned in confusion. “I don’t know that name, but if you’d like me to inquire, I will.”

  “Please.”

  “And what questions do you have about yourself?”

  His mind filled with a multitude of things he wanted to know, so many questions forming that he nearly drowned in them and could not articulate a single one. The doctor watched his face, reading the struggle in his eyes and expression. Finally, he nodded.

  “I understand. There’s too much you don’t know, so you can’t formulate questions. Is that it?”

  Sebastian sighed. “Yes, sir.”

  Christopher stepped back to lean against the wall of the shed, crossing his arms over his chest. “All right, then. I will start at the beginning. Your name is Sebastian, and you were created at GenTel Laboratories. You are half golden dragon, also known as royal dragon, and half human. Your mother was a surrogate human who was paid richly for her pain and inconvenience in bearing you. You were born at Crown Holdings, which is the breeding facility where you were living before you were brought here. You were one of eight golden dragonel embryos created by GenTel, but only one of two to reach viability. Of those two, you are the only one who reached sexual maturity. Golden dragons do not survive in captivity, and most have expected golden dragonels to have the same difficulty. Thus far, you’re the only one to have survived beyond infancy.

  “The Countess paid GenTel to develop you, and as a result, she owns the copyright on your genome. She intends to make her money back by selling your genetic materials to other cryptomorph collectors. You are a rare commodity, and she believes that you will make her a stunning amount of money...and if you can be bred, that amount will go up a hundredfold.”

  Sebastian held his silence, taking in the information. He was disheartened but not surprised to hear that he had always been a thing, nothing more than a science project created as an investment opportunity.

  “Three months ago, you rebelled. You found a way to escape Crown Holdings and very nearly made it out of the city into the Badlands. The security team apprehended you at the border and brought you back. Once they had you contained, they applied neural editing technology to force you into being more compliant. That is why your memory has been eradicated. They were perhaps a bit too thorough, since it seems you developed nearly complete amnesia. It’s good that you were able to remember your name, though - that means that the damage they did to your frontal cortex is not as extensive as we had feared.”

  He found his voice. “Did they do permanent damage to my brain?”

  “That remains to be seen. So far, you haven’t displayed any functional deficits, so if there is any damage, it doesn’t seem to be significant. At most it would be cognitive, which is of no concern to GenTel. As long as your body functions for its intended purpose, they’re satisfied.” Christopher put a hand into his bag again, and this time he came out with a syringe and a vial of clear liquid. He showed them to Sebastian. “This is a chemical compound that helps to suppress some of the more dangerous draconic traits that you might have inherited from your dragon parent. I need to inject you with this. Will you allow it?”

  “You’re asking my permission?” he asked, surprised. “Does it matter if I agree or not?”

  “It matters to me,” the doctor said softly, “although I’m afraid I would inject you with it whether you agreed or not.”

  “Then why ask?”

  “Perhaps because it assuages my guilt.” He filled the syringe with the liquid and stepped closer. “I apologize, Sebastian. You and the rest of the cryptomorphs are given very poor treatment.”

  He rolled up Sebastian’s T-shirt sleeve, then pressed the needle into his shoulder, carefully sliding between golden scales. Sebastian asked, “What is a cryptomorph?”

  “A cryptomorph is a genetically engineered construct combining the DNA of mythrics and humans.”

  “What is a mythric?”

  Christopher withdrew the needle. The liquid he had injected into Sebastian’s muscle burned. “A mythric is one of the non-human creatures in the Badlands. Dragons, minotaurs, centaurs, wolfen, unicorns, dryads, demons...the list goes on. The wealthy in our city keep cryptomorphs as pets.”

  Sebastian looked up into Christopher’s eyes. “You don’t approve.”

  The doctor smiled sadly. “My approval or lack thereof has very little effect on the status quo. Is your collar too tight?”

  “It’s uncomfortable,” he admitted.

  “There are things about that collar that you should know. It has several functions that you’ll hopefully never come into contact with. It’s operated remotely by a control that the Countess has in her possession. It’s a shock collar, and it also has a tracker embedded in it. More importantly, it has built-in explosives, meaning that at any time, she can hit a button and quite literally blow your head off.”

  Sebastian’s eyes widened. “Would she do that?”

  “Not unless you really pushed her. You’re far too valuable. Some of the more common cryptomorphs might have to worry, but you don’t, I think. Still, it’s good that you’re aware of what she can do.” He hesitated. “The Countess is a very powerful woman, and she rules this city with an iron fist. She is not to be trifled with.”

  “I’ve gotten that impression.”

  Christopher nodded. “The reason you’re here at her estate is that there is a party coming up for the Community - the people who own cryptomorphs - and she intends to put you on display. You will need to be absolutely
obedient, or you will be severely punished. Whatever you are asked to do, you must do it, no matter how humiliating. She intends for you to be her showpiece, and there will be a great deal of interest in you.”

  Sebastian frowned. “What is going to be asked of me?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just know that these parties tend to be more than a little hedonistic, and they don’t consider cryptomorphs to be people.”

  “They’re going to touch me?”

  “Most likely.”

  “Intimately?”

  Christopher nodded. “Probably. They’ll want to see for themselves that you’re sexually viable.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. “I don’t want to be passed around like a party favor.”

  “I can’t blame you,” he admitted.

  “Don’t make me go there,” he begged. “Unchain me. Let me go.”

  “I can’t do that. You must understand - you are not the only being here that the Countess owns.”

  Sebastian pulled against his bonds, but they held securely. He was beginning to panic, and for the first time, anger was not far behind. “How do you fit into all of this?”

  Christopher sighed. “The Countess is my grandmother.”

  “That’s crazy,” he said, surprised. “She doesn’t look old enough.”

  “Oh, she is. Believe me. She’s much, much older than she looks.” He reached around Sebastian’s neck and fingered the collar, sliding his fingers over the embedded circuitry. The collar shifted at his command, loosening slightly. “Is that better?”

  “Much. Thank you.” He knelt more comfortably, no longer holding himself as rigidly upright.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He looked up at the other man. “Why are you being kind to me?”

  “I believe everybody deserves kindness. Even cryptomorphs.”

  “And what about freedom? Doesn’t everyone deserve that, too?”

  “Of course. I’m just not in a position to give it.”

  “Yes, you are,” Sebastian pressed.

  Christopher shook his head. “I want to help you. I do. I just can’t. I’m sorry. Do you have any other questions before I go?”

  “Where are my babies?” he blurted.

  The doctor looked surprised. “There haven’t been any live births.”

  “But there are pregnancies. I heard the Countess say so.”

  “Yes...and I presume the breeding women in question are at Crown Holdings. I don’t know anything more about that.”

  “Will I…” He stopped the question before it was finished, already suspecting that he knew the answer.

  Christopher anticipated what he was going to say and answered. “If the pregnancies go full term and children are born, no, you will never see them.”

  “She said that there were six…”

  “There are eight now.”

  Eight. He hesitated. “Will I be told when the children are born?”

  “Would you want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” He looked honestly confused.

  “I…” He couldn’t explain it. “I just want to know. I want to know how many children I have.”

  Christopher busied himself with his messenger bag, putting the needle and vial away. “The births are months away, but if I have anything to say in this matter, you will be told. After all, they’ll be the first second-generation golden dragonels Crown Holdings have ever produced.”

  Sebastian shifted on his knees. ““You’re her grandson - you have to have privileges here. I would think you have a lot of say on things.”

  “It’s not that easy,” he said. “I can’t defy her. She holds my marker.”

  “Your marker?”

  He smiled sadly. “That is a conversation for another day.” He closed his bag. “I think you’ll heal up just fine in time for the party.”

  He left the shed and the guards returned, releasing the shackles that bound his ankles to his wrists. They left again, leaving him alone. He sat on the cot and rubbed his neck around the collar, grateful for the minimal relief that Christopher had been able to provide him. The chain connecting him to the ceiling was slack once again, and it allowed him to pace, burning off his nervous energy in the only way he could.

  Chapter Six

  Three days passed. Like in his room at Crown Holdings, he was alone except for brief visits from people who brought his meals and emptied the bucket of his waste. Instead of the nutrient paste he was given at the facility, he was delighted to be given plates of real food, fruit and meat and breads, with fruit juice and water to wash it down. He ate everything they gave him, savoring the taste and texture. Having the luxury of real food almost made the anxiety of his new captivity worthwhile.

  From his shed, he could hear large vehicles coming and going, and the shouts of workmen. It sounded like a host of deliveries were rolling into the estate. Apparently, when the Countess threw a party, she went big. He wondered how many guests she had invited, and what they would expect of him.

  On the third afternoon, the shed door was unlocked too early for dinner. Christopher came inside, no medical bag this time, clad in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. His black hair was coiffed to perfection, and he had dark kohl lines drawn around his eyes, which shone like beacons. He was beautiful, and Sebastian could not stop himself from staring.

  The veterinarian smiled at him. “I hope that reaction is a positive one,” he said.

  “Uh…” He struggled to gather himself. He hadn’t expected his captor to have such an effect on him. He licked his lips almost unconsciously. “Very positive, sir.”

  “Good.”

  He reached up to unlock the chain from the ceiling, and as he did, Sebastian saw that he was wearing black leather gloves, just as tailored to his hands as his tuxedo was to his body. They seemed a strange accessory choice to go with his formal wear, but it was a good look for him. Sebastian watched as the doctor pulled the chain free and disconnected it from the collar around his neck.

  “We’re going to go into the house. Can I trust you to behave, or do I need to attach a leash?”

  Sebastian flushed with shame. “I don’t need a leash.”

  “I didn’t think so.” He opened the door to the shed. “Come along, then.”

  The sunlight was brutally bright after so many days in the shadows of the shed. He winced in the sudden glare and stumbled along behind Christopher. Their path led through an immaculate rose garden with pinkish-white marble paving stones, the flowers grouped by color and size, the arrangement almost too scientific to be beautiful. An elaborate fountain bubbled in the center of the garden, and Christopher led him past it. Sebastian stopped and stared at the water as it cascaded down the stone body of a naked angel, his mouth open in wonder. He had never seen anything like it.

  He heard his guide clear his throat gently, and he turned away from the fountain to see Christopher watching him with a warm look in his eyes. Sebastian smiled.

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just so beautiful. I got distracted.”

  “It’s all right,” the veterinarian reassured. “I hadn’t realized before how golden you are.”

  Sebastian looked down at the exposed skin on his arms, the sunlight making him look more than ever like he’d been painted with gold dust. He rubbed a hand over his skin, self-conscious.

  “I… I hope…”

  “I like it,” Christopher said simply. He walked to the back of the house and opened one half of a double door. He held it for Sebastian. “After you.”

  The door led into a sunroom, which was appropriate enough for a chamber that was attached to a garden. There were three doors leaving the sunroom, and Christopher took him through the one farthest to the right. There was a short, window-filled hallway, then another set of doors, and Sebastian waited quietly while Christopher unlocked them by tapping a code into a keypad. He memorized the numbers that his guide punched in - 2176 - and then meekly followed him into the next room.


  The room they entered was part of an elegantly appointed suite, with polished wooden furniture and tasteful artwork on the walls. The carpeting was so lush and thick that Sebastian felt like he was floating as he walked on it. The air carried Christopher’s scent, masculine and clean, and he knew without asking that this was the other man’s private apartment.

  Christopher led him through a sliding pocket door and into a bedroom. A four-poster bed with a deep scarlet coverlet dominated the room, and a painting of two men in a lover’s embrace hung on one wall. One of the men was very clearly Christopher himself.

  “The bathroom is through that door. There are toiletries and towels, as well as an enema kit. Use it. When you have fully cleansed your bowels, you can either bathe or shower, your choice. When you’re done, come back in here and we’ll get you situated for the party.”

  Sebastian nodded. “Thank you.” He gestured to the painting. “That’s very nice.”

  Christopher smiled, but the expression was a sad one. “Thank you. The artist was a good friend, and he was very talented.”

  “Was?”

  “He died twenty-four years ago.”

  Sebastian was shocked. “But… you can’t be…”

  “I can. I’m four hundred and twelve years old.”

  He gaped. “You’re not human.”

  “That’s our little secret.” He looked away. “Please get cleaned up now.”

  He was filled with questions, but it was clear that Christopher would say nothing further on the subject. Instead of taking the risk of alienating the only person in the world who was showing him kindness, Sebastian decided to hold his tongue and went into the bathroom instead.

  The enema kit was sitting on a surgical drape on the bathroom counter, the plastic apparatus blunt and ugly compared with the sparkling granite of the countertop. There were three reservoirs already filled with liquid, and a tube of lubricant. He stared at the kit for a long moment, dreading the reason it was required. Christopher had said that he would be asked to do many things, some of them intimate. He decided that he would rather endure the private humiliation of this cleansing than the public humiliation of soiling himself if - or when - someone decided to use him at the party. He dutifully used the kit, washing himself clean.