Wicked Beloved (4 page)

She dropped to all fours on the carpet,
bowed her head, and pressed her lips against the top of his boot.
“Thank you, Master.”

A burning surge of power radiated through
him at the sight of her on her knees, a supplicant before him. He
closed his eyes and fought down the hard excitement rising in his
groin. “Enough of that. Get out and let me rest.”

She scrambled to her feet and bounded away.
When he opened his eyes, the bedroom—his bedroom, as it normally
was, with him as sole occupant—felt surprisingly empty. And that
irritated him.

This was how he preferred his life.
Solitary. Unfettered. His flat was a sanctuary from the uncertain
nature of his livelihood. His rooms always felt safe. They never
felt empty before.

Fists clenched, he marched the bedroom’s
perimeter, the urge to destroy something uppermost in his thoughts.
It had been too long since his last release, that was all. He ran
himself like a machine, but he was only flesh—and male, with all
the needs of his gender and desires of his kind. As he prepared for
bed, he resolved to set a future date for I’eke to visit.

In the morning, when he couldn’t find his
pet, he wondered vaguely if she’d put her newly-acquired knowledge
of purple buttons to good use.

CHAPTER
FOUR

He hadn’t double-locked the door, thus it
would have opened had she hit the exit button. He stumbled into the
kitchen and steeped a pot of bala. So she had run off. Well, good
luck to her. That first master of hers had messed her up but good.
She deserved some freedom.

She didn’t have the right temperament to be
a slave anyway. And he hadn’t been meaning to purchase a pet. Truth
be told, he’d lost more money at the gambling tables on Rigel 9 so
it wasn’t the coin he’d miss. He wouldn’t miss anything, what was
he thinking?

He had just finished pouring a full mug of
the hot brew when the closet door creaked. Instantly on guard, he
set the carafe beside the mug and, bare feet moving swift and
silent, he crossed to the closet of the main room.

Another creak broke the quiet, but this time
the closet door partially opened. And he recognized orange
hair.

“
Is that coffee? I think I
smell coffee,” the girl was mumbling to herself. She leaned out
over a cushion he recognized from his couch and blinked up at him,
squinting in the daylight. “Hi, Master. Is that coffee?”

He opened the closet door all the way. She
had made herself a rudimentary fort of cushions inside his
closet.

“
This is where you
slept?”

“
Yes, Master. You said
anywhere.”

“
That I did. Right. No, I
don’t know what ‘coffee’ is, I made bala. But you may have a cup
just the same. Put my cushions back first.”

“
Yes, Master.”

By the time she came to the kitchen, wrapped
in her towel, he had a mug ready for her. She took a sip and
grimaced.

“
Do you like
it?”

“
Do you have anything to
make it sweeter, Master?”

He passed her the small pot of iyn.

“
How about milk? Is there
milk on this planet?”

“
We have milk.” He
retrieved the metal pitcher from the icebox.

“
It’s
sorta…green.”

“
Yes.”

“
It’s not from a cow, is
it?”

“
Cow?”

“
Never mind. Thank you,
Master. Please pretend I said master before, too,” she added as she
stirred the milk and sweetener into her bala. “I’m sorry, I’m not
awake yet. I think that was the first full night of sleep I’ve had
in the last four months. It was glorious.” She smiled at him. It
was a nice smile, the sort that made him want to return it; he gave
in to the impulse.

“
I shall recommend my
closet to all my future guests.”

She laughed. “You do that, Master.”

He watched her quaff her drink. Her laugh
was quite musical. He wondered if she screamed as prettily.

He could think of no other reason why her
previous owner would deliberately have kept her in agony. Not when
one had the option to be buoyed by such cheerfulness. But perhaps
she had never shown that master her smile. Theirs had been a battle
of wills and hatred.

“
How much do you know
about the role of a slave? Beyond obedience.”

A gutted sadness crossed her face. “There’s
more?”

Since her first master never earned her
obedience, he supposed her lack of teaching should come as no
surprise. “We’ll just worry about the public behaviors. When we go
out, you walk two steps behind me at all times.”

“
I can go outside with
you?” She sounded happily surprised.

“
Yes. But you may speak to
no one but me, and only when I’ve spoken to you first.”

“
Good to know being
annoyingly condescending isn’t just an Earth thing.
Next?”

“
When I sit, you sit at my
feet.”

“
Barbaric, but doable.
That’s just for outside, right?”

He snorted, amused at her freely offered
comments. “What happened to your fear of me?”

Her eyes widened, large as satellites.
Dismay coated her face, her voice, and radiated from the feeble
actions of her imploring hands as she quickly set down her mug and
dropped to her knees. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Master.”

A pang of something that might have been
regret, if he suffered from those types of feelings, forced him to
quickly grasp her wrists and raise her to her feet. “That was a
clumsy attempt at humor. Ignore me.” He returned her mug to her
hand, waiting until she had a steady clasp of the handle before
releasing it. “Yes, these rules only apply in public.”

“
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean
to forget my place. I’m not used to—”

“
Enough,” he interrupted
her. “In private I prefer you unafraid. Speak as you
like.”

Her eyes shone as she looked up at him.
“Thank you, Master.” She took a sip of bala. “So I get to be a
cat-type-of-pet in private.” The words meant nothing to him but
they amused her. Another sip. “Anything else?”

“
Technically you don’t
raise your eyes in public, as direct eye contact from a slave can
be taken as an insult. However, since the redress for such an
insult is to demand an apology from the master, and no one will
dare challenge me, feel free to look at whatever you
like.”

She smiled. “Cool.”

The thoughts that smile engendered were
anything but cool. She was so free in displaying her emotions. Her
warm emotions. She just did not have the mental armor for this
life.

His gaze wandered to her towel. Nor wearable
armor either. He watched the way her full breasts pressed against
the taut cloth as she breathed. She must not have wanted to put the
shelter gown back on and he didn’t blame her. But he could whisk
that towel from her body and have her pinned to the floor between
one breath and the next.

The thought made his fingers itch to do
precisely that. Excitement surged in his groin. Muscles tensed,
ready to spring, while fire swirled at the base of his spine. Heart
beating with the thrilling speed he normally associated with a job,
he grabbed the bala steeper and went to clean it. Anything to get
his back to her. So she couldn’t read his thoughts in the growing
bulge at the front of his trousers.

“
You need clothes.” The
statement sounded odd, out of place. Or perhaps just the way his
voice rasped as he said it. He cleared his throat. “A vivid green
would complement your hair.” That sounded more natural.

“
Could I have a tunic and
trousers like you, Master?”

“
Gowns are more typical
for female slaves. Easier access. I suppose that’s why you don’t
like them.” He looked over his shoulder to see her nod, biting her
lip. “Fine. We’ll trouser you then.”

She rewarded him with another bright smile.
He didn’t care how prettily she cried. Nothing could improve upon
that smile.

“
I don’t wear animal fur,
though. Master. If that’s okay. I’d rather not wear leather either
but you seem to be more in leather than cloth—which looks really
good on you, I must say—so maybe there aren’t that many options but
if I can at least avoid fur…. You’re looking at me like I’m
speaking gibberish.”

He raised an eyebrow and slowly stated, “You
don’t wear leather. Or fur.”

“
Uh. No?”

“
Why not?”

“
It’s…an attitude left
over from Earth.” She waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Forget
it. Sorry.”

Wondering what the point was of protesting
clothing, he asked, “You are anti-warmth?”

“
Anti-cruelty.”

Both his eyebrows rose at that. One might as
well protest the need to eat. Cruelty happened. It would always
happen. It pretty much had to happen.

“
Yeah, I know what you’re
thinking.” She sighed. “I’m insane, right? But don’t you think
everything would be better if everyone were kind to
everybody?”

“
A foolish concept.” He
snorted and returned to cleansing the steeper. “It’s an
impossibility.”

“
But it’s an ideal worth
striving for, don’t you think? Well, no, you wouldn’t think that.
Not on this world.” Her voice started to sound choked. “Sorry.
Master,” she added, a swift afterthought.

He turned in time to catch a glimpse of
reddened, watery eyes before she ducked her head and stared at the
floor.

“
You needn’t be sorry for
your thoughts.” He set the steeper aside and dried his hands. So
emotional, this pet. Glad he didn’t have to wrestle with
sentimentality himself, he edged toward her, as he would spooked
quarry. “I rather like your brain. It’s… different.” He reached out
to stroke the soft waves of her hair.

She turned her face to press her cheek into
his palm. Her skin was damp, he guessed from fugitive tears.

“
At least you didn’t say
crazy.” She chuckled, but it was a quiet, sad sound.

“
Protesting cruelty is not
considered mad on your Earth?”

“
No. Well, maybe to some….
Let’s just say I’m not utterly alone in thinking that way. Not like
here.”

He didn’t wonder at her missing her planet.
Not only was it her home, she clearly came from a milder
civilization. He wondered how they survived.

* * *

The next few days were a whirl of activity.
Buying her clothes and shoes and other necessities was only the
beginning. They went for frequent walks to familiarize her with the
district and, since she was interested, he bought her a big picture
map of Kefu—port and city, the one with the intergalactic icons
instead of words since she couldn’t read his language.
Unfortunately she didn’t find the icons intuitive at all and he
spent as much time explaining them as he would have teaching her
the words. So he bought her a few infant books, to help her learn
to read.

Her ability to operate kitchen equipment was
also limited, with the exception of the bala steeper. That one she
understood almost immediately. So she entertained him by prattling
on about everything and nothing while he did the kitchen
operating.

In the evenings, they would sit at his large
viewing window with mugs of bala and he would point out relevant
stars. She could claim no knowledge of them so he would tell her
tales of his journeys. At first he felt uncomfortable, talking so
much about himself, but she listened like she cared—enough so that
sometimes he forgot she was literally a captive audience. When he
remembered, her subservient position made him feel oddly
hollow.

Several times he went out to the Assassins’
Guild, to finish paperwork and follow up on any possible
assignments, leaving her alone in the flat. He didn’t tell her
where he was going and he certainly would not take her with him.
With her sensitivity to violence, she didn’t need to be exposed to
that side of his life.

* * *

The first time he left her alone, she had
been afraid to leave the flat. Afraid he would return early. Afraid
the door wouldn't reopen when she needed to get back inside. Afraid
she'd get lost. Afraid one of the sadistic denizens of this city
would snatch her off the street and she'd once again be in
hell.

The second time she made
it down to the corner and back. So many hovercarts and pods and
levels and bridges and beings. All rushing and pushing and darting
and grabbing. Bright colors streaking past and things that
shouldn't even be
alive
yelling at her.

The hustle was bearable when her master
accompanied her. It was utter chaos alone. She couldn't tell what
wanted to eat her from what was inert. Until she knew more about
this place, merely getting out of his flat did nothing to advance
her escape plans. Earth remained unattainable until she could find
a way to the port where the spaceships docked.

* * *

After leaving her by herself a few times,
Dzer-Jin began to wonder if she felt lonely. He liked how her eyes
lit up when she saw him, and he found his flat to be even more of a
haven from the world with her in it. But he was there because he
wanted to be. She wasn’t. She needed her own kind.

Owning more than one slave was common, and
another would provide companionship for her, but he didn’t want
another one. In fact, thoughts of sharing her company made him want
to claw things. But to keep her all to himself was wrong. He knew
that. So when Lagi messaged him about an opportunity to take her
out, and to a place designed for both of them, he accepted.