I pace the room like a caged animal, which I suppose is exactly what I am. The space is bigger than I expected, nicer than I deserve as "livestock," but it's still a cage. The window doesn't open. The door is locked from the outside. I'm trapped.
The moonlight streams through the glass, painting silver stripes across the floor. I stop at the window, pressing my palm against the cool pane, looking out over gardens I can barely see in the darkness. Somewhere beyond those walls is freedom. Somewhere out there, humans are still living in the wild, still hunting, still surviving.
I should be with them.
Instead, I'm here. In this room. Wearing trousers that aren't mine, with skin still warm from water heated by Lactari magic ortechnology or whatever the hell they use. My wrists ache where the shackles rubbed them raw, a constant reminder of what I am now.
Property.
My reflection stares back at me from the dark window. I look the same as I did a week ago. Same dark hair, same stubborn jaw, same pale eyes. But I'm not the same. Something fundamental has shifted, broken, been torn away.
And the worst part? The absolute worst fucking part?
I'm hard again.
Just thinking about her makes my cock swell against the loose trousers. The way she looked at me in the pool, those silver eyes tracking every inch of my body. The way her voice dropped when she promised to milk me, to make me beg.
I can break you in ways you can't even imagine.
I believe her. That's the terrifying thing. I absolutely believe she could break me, would break me, if I gave her the chance.
My hand drifts down without my permission, palming myself through the fabric. I'm aching, have been since the bathing chamber, since she stepped into the water wearing almost nothing. Her skin is lighter than most Lactari I've seen, that marbled gray catching the light. And her body,fuck, her body. I groan as I squeeze my cock, trying to wrangle some sense of control over it.
I shouldn't be attracted to her. She's my captor, my owner, the one who's going to use me. But my body doesn't care about that.
When I finally wrap my hand around you and milk you for the first time, you're going to come so hard you'll forget your own name.
A groan escapes my throat. I squeeze myself harder, hating how good it feels, hating how much I want it. Want her hands on me. Want to know what it would feel like when she finally...
No. No, I can't do this.
I wrench my hand away and grip the windowsill instead, my knuckles going white. Deep breaths. In and out. Control yourself.
A soft knock at the door startles me so badly I nearly jump.
"Oliver?" A male voice, unfamiliar. "I'm Healer Madris. Madam Primsyn sent me to tend your wounds."
Right. The healer. I'd almost forgotten in my spiral of self-loathing and unwanted arousal.
"Come in," I call out, stepping back from the window.
The lock clicks and the door opens. The Lactari who enters is older, his marbled skin more dark blue than gray, his jeweled eyes a deep sapphire. He carries a leather satchel and moves with the careful deliberation of someone who's done this a thousand times.
"Let's have a look at you," he says, his tone professional but not unkind. He gestures toward the bed. "Sit."
I comply because what else am I going to do? Fight a healer? He's probably the only person in this house who might actually give a damn if I'm in pain.
Madris sets his satchel on the bed beside me and begins his examination. His fingers are gentle as they probe my split lip, my raw wrists, checking for other injuries I might have sustained during capture or transport.
"You were lucky," he murmurs. "No broken bones, no serious damage. Just surface wounds."
"Lucky," I say. "Yeah. That's me."
He pauses, his eyes meeting mine. "I know this is difficult."
"Do you?" The words come out sharper than I intend. "Do you know what it's like to be hunted like an animal? Sold like meat? To have your entire life stripped away?"
Madris is quiet for a moment as he applies a cool salve to my wrists. The relief is immediate, the sting fading to a dull ache.
