“There will be no schooling,” it said.Blunt, ice-cold, like a hammer in winter.Then, as the owner went on, the voice developed a razor edge.“If anyone defiles him, I will personally relieve them of their genitals.”
The elf slaver gave a polite cough and made no more offers.
Freshly resolute, honed with deadly anger at being caged, at the prospect of being “defiled,” at the prospect of beingsold,Clove clenched his fists and prepared to fight until his last breath.
He was given no such opportunity.
The moment the door cracked open, a rush of cool, rose-scented air blew into the room.His nostrils filled with floral scent, and his vision ebbed immediately at the corners.Weakness loosened his body, sweeping through him from his scalp all the way to the tips of his toes, and he had no choice but to give in.
His eyelids drooped.
The door swung all the way open.
Beyond the shadows of his own eyelashes, he thought he glimpsed a pair of black boots and the hem of a cloak sweeping just above the ground.
The floral scent deepened, and as the magic spread through him, Clove’s senses faded, and he fell into a dream.
Warmth settled over him.
The weight of a cloak, draped carefully over his bare, vulnerable form.
A hand touched his chin.Hesitated.Then tilted up his face, allowing the hand’s owner to trace the edge of his jaw and carefully tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.
Then abruptly the hand disappeared, and a pair of strong arms snaked under his knees and back.They effortlessly hefted Clove up from the couch and cradled him against a broad, muscular chest.Sinking deeper and deeper into dreaming, Clove only faintly registered the sensation of a heart beating behind it.
Then came a whisper from above.
“Never again,” it said, little louder than an exhale, as if the owner barely dared speak.“Never again.Never again…”
ChapterTwo
Clove awoke slowly at first.
Comfortably.
He was coaxed back into consciousness by the extreme pleasantness of a warm bed, the sensation of being wrapped in fine blankets rather than curled up in dirty straw.He was sure it was a dream, and not eager to abandon it; yet as he slipped closer to waking, he became more and more aware of the physical reality of it all.Warm.Secure.Soft.Tangible.
Eyes closed, he stretched and smiled, running his fingers over silky sheets.Such luxury!He had never touched anything so fine, let alone been allowed tosleepin it?—
His trailing fingers touched something hot.
Hot, firm, and soft-skinned.
Flesh.
Clove jolted awake, sitting straight up in bed with a convulsive gasp.He yanked the sheets protectively up to his chin to cover himself.
In that changeable moment between sleeping and waking, dream and reality, he thought he heard and evenfelta great rushing, like wind.Something that moved suddenly, with great speed—fast enough that as soon as it was gone, he was unsure whether he had really heard or felt anything at all.
Then there was silence.
It was dark.
Listening to his own heartbeat, the static of his frightened breath gradually returning to normal, Clove forced himself to focus.
He reached out and slowly felt over the sheets for evidence of another body.
This time, his fingers encountered no shock of hot flesh—but theydidpause upon a warm spot, a suspicious divot in the bed where someone or somethingmight have lain.
