Primsyn's estate looms above me, all sharp angles and dark windows. A prison dressed up as a mansion.
She walks toward the entrance, clearly expecting me to follow. After a long moment, I do. Not because I want to. Not because I accept this.
But because I need to survive long enough to find a way out.
As I follow her into the dark house, into my new life as a food source, one thought burns through my mind with clarity:
I will make you regret buying me, Primsyn. I swear it.
CHAPTER TWO
PRIMSYN
The human follows me into the main hall, his footsteps heavy and dragging. Good. Let him be reluctant. Let him rage and fight and exhaust himself against the reality of his situation. It will make his eventual acceptance all the sweeter.
Acceptance.
Is that what I want from him? I'm not entirely sure anymore. When I entered the auction house tonight, I had a simple goal: purchase a human male for my personal feeding stock. Someone strong, healthy, capable of providing what I require. I expected to feel nothing beyond practical satisfaction at acquiring quality livestock.
I did not expecthim.
Oliver.
Even his name feels dangerous in my mouth, too personal for what he's supposed to be. Livestock don't have names that matter. They're numbered, catalogued, used. But this one, this defiant creature with fire in his eyes and blood on his lips, he's burning straight through my careful defenses.
The way he looked at me on that auction block—hatred, pure and simple. The way his body responded to my words despite his protests. The way he stands now in my entrance hall, shackled and bare and utterly magnificent in his rage.
I want him. Not just for food. I want to break his will slowly, carefully, until he begs me for the very thing he claims to despise. I want to hear my name on his lips as he comes undone.
Control yourself, Primsyn. You're not some inexperienced girl. You're forty years old, the widow of a council member, head of this household.
But I was also married to a man who never touched me, never wanted me, never made me feel anything but a decorative piece of furniture. And now, standing before this human who looks at me with such raw emotion, I feel something I haven't felt in years.
Alive.
"Madam Primsyn." My head steward, Corvask, approaches from the left corridor. His dark gray skin is nearly black in the dim lighting, his midnight-blue eyes sharp and assessing as they land on Oliver. "Your new acquisition?"
"Yes, have the bathing chamber prepared. He'll need to be cleaned before I take him to his quarters."
Oliver's head snaps toward me. "I can clean myself."
"You'll do as you're told," I reply without looking at him. To Corvask, I continue, "Send for Healer Madris as well. He has injuries that need tending."
"Just a split lip," Oliver interjects. "I don't need your fucking healer."
Now I do turn to look at him, allowing some of the steel I usually keep hidden to show in my expression. "You will accept care when it's offered. And you will stop testing my patience, or you'll find it has limits."
His jaw clenches, muscles jumping beneath stubbled skin. For a moment, I think he might actually lunge at me despite the shackles. Part of me almost wants him to.
"Understood?" I press.
Silence.
"Oliver." I step closer, close enough to smell the sweat and blood on him, close enough to see his pupils dilate. "I asked you a question."
"Understood," he spits out, the word forced through clenched teeth.
"Understood, Mistress," I correct.
