Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
OLIVER
Idon't sleep.
How the fuck am I supposed to sleep when my mind won't stop replaying every moment of the last few hours? The auction. The carriage ride. Her hands on my skin in the bathing chamber.
Her.
Primsyn.
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 or technology 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.
"No," he admits. "I don't know what that's like. But I've tended many humans in my years as a healer. I've seen the fear, the despair. And I've seen some of them find...if not happiness, then at least peace with their circumstances."
"I'll never find peace here."
"Perhaps not." He moves to my lip now, dabbing at the split with something that makes it tingle. "But Madam Primsyn is not cruel. She won't beat you or starve you. She'll provide for your needs."
"Except my need for freedom."
"Yes. Except that." He finishes with my lip and steps back, regarding me with what might be sympathy. "She's a good mistress, Oliver. As owners go, you could have done much worse."
"I shouldn't have an owner at all."
Madris packs his supplies back into his satchel with practiced efficiency. "No. You're probably right. But this is the world we live in. The Lactari need human fluids to survive. It's not cruelty for cruelty's sake."
"So I'm supposed to just accept it? Be grateful I'm being used to keep you alive?"
"I'm not asking you to be grateful." He moves toward the door, then pauses. "But I am suggesting you pick your battles. Madam Primsyn has been alone for a long time. Her husband never… Well, that's not my place to say. But she's not the monster you think she is."
He leaves before I can respond, the door locking behind him with a final, damning click.
I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Her husband never... Never what? Never touched her? Never loved her? What does that have to do with me?
Nothing. It has nothing to do with me. She's still my captor.
But I can't stop thinking about the way she looked when she said I was more than entertainment. The way her voice caught, just for a second, before she shut down again.
You're valuable livestock.
Yeah. That's all I am to her.
So why did it sound like she was lying?
Morning comes too soon. I must have dozed off at some point because I wake to sunlight streaming through the window and the sound of the door unlocking.
A Lactari servant enters, female, her skin mottled purple. She carries a tray of food and keeps her eyes downcast, submissive in a way that sets my teeth on edge.
"Breakfast," she says softly, setting the tray on a small table near the window. "Madam Primsyn requests your presence in her study in one hour."
She's gone before I can ask any questions.
I look at the food. My stomach growls at the sight. Bread, fruit, some kind of cheese, water. More than I've eaten in the last week combined.
Don't eat it. It's just another chain.
But I'm starving, and refusing food won't hurt anyone but me. So I eat, hating myself a little more with every bite.
An hour later, right on schedule, the door unlocks again. This time it's Corvask, the steward from last night. His expression is neutral, unreadable.
"This way," he says.
I follow him through a maze of corridors. The estate looks different in the daylight, less oppressive but no less luxurious. Everything is expensive and tasteful, designed to showcase wealth. We pass servants, both Lactari and human, all of whom avert their eyes as we walk by.
The humans especially. They won't even look at me.
Is that what I'll become? So broken I can't even meet another human's gaze?
Corvask stops at a heavy wooden door and knocks twice.
"Enter," Primsyn's voice calls from inside.
The study is exactly what I'd expect. Bookshelves lining the walls, a massive desk of dark wood, tall windows overlooking the gardens, and there, behind the desk, sits Primsyn.
She's dressed formally today, her hair once again pulled back. A deep gray jacket over a crisp white shirt; she looks every inch the wealthy widow, the head of household, the woman who owns me.
"Oliver, sit." She gestures to a chair across from her desk.
I remain standing. "I'd rather not."
Her eyes narrow slightly. "That wasn't a request."
"And I'm not a dog who sits on command."
For a long moment, we stare at each other. I can see the calculation in her gaze, weighing whether this is worth fighting over. Finally, she waves a dismissive hand.
"Fine. Stand if it makes you feel better." She pulls out a document from a drawer. "We need to discuss the terms of your...service."
"You mean the terms of my enslavement."
"If you prefer." She slides the document across the desk toward me. "These outline what will be expected of you. Your duties, your schedule, the consequences for disobedience."
I don't touch the paper. "I can't read your language."
"Of course." She leans back in her chair. "Then I'll explain. You will be available for milking each evening, after sunset. I will come to your chamber for the…sessions. And you will cooperate fully or face punishment."
My hands clench. "What kind of punishment?"
"That depends on the severity of your disobedience. Reduced rations. Confinement. Physical discipline if necessary."
"You mean beatings."
"I prefer not to use such crude methods," she says evenly. "But I will if you force my hand."
"So you'll torture me if I don't let you use me for food. Got it."
Her jaw tightens. "You're being deliberately obtuse. This is not torture, Oliver. This is survival. My survival. Without regular feeding, I'll weaken, sicken, eventually die. I need what you can provide."
"Then you should have thought of that before your people started hunting mine."
"I didn't make the rules!" For the first time, real emotion splits through her composure. "I didn't create the world we live in. I'm simply trying to survive in it, same as you."
"Except you have all the power and I have none."
She stands abruptly, her palms flat on the desk. "You think I wanted this? You think I enjoy having to keep sentient beings for nutrition? I don't. But what choice do I have? Starve? Die? Let my household fall into ruin?"
"You could fight to change things."
"One person can't change an entire society."
"Then you're a coward."
She moves so fast I don’t see it coming, only feel the aftermath. I hear a sharp crack as her palm meets my cheek, and pain streaks across my face.
Silence hangs in the air between us.
Primsyn's eyes flash, turning cold and hard as ice. When she speaks, her voice is deadly quiet.
"Get out."
"What?"
"Get. Out." Each word is bitten off, precise. "Corvask will take you back to your quarters. We'll try this again when you've remembered your place."
I should feel victorious. I pushed her, made her lose that iron control. But looking at her now, at the fury barely contained beneath her surface, I realize I might have made a mistake.
A big one.
Corvask appears at my elbow as if summoned by magic. "This way," he says, his tone harder now.
I let him lead me out, but I can feel Primsyn's eyes on my back the entire way. Burning. Assessing.
Primsyn
Coward.
The word echoes in my mind long after Oliver left my study. I stand at the window, staring out at the gardens without really seeing them, my hands trembling.
How dare he? How dare he judge me, lecture me about changing society when he knows nothing of how this world works? He's been a captive for a week. I've lived in this system for forty years.
I could have him whipped. Should have him whipped. Any other household would beat the defiance out of him within days.
But I won't. Because he's right, in a way I hate to admit even to myself.
I am a coward.
I've never questioned the system, never pushed back against the council, never tried to improve conditions for the humans we keep. I've simply accepted it as the natural order. Lactari need human fluids. Humans are captured and used. That's just how things have been for the last hundred years.
Except it doesn't have to be.
I sink into my chair, pressing my fingers to my temples. This human is going to drive me mad. One night and he's already under my skin, making me question things I've never questioned before.
You're more than that.
I shouldn't have said it. He's livestock, nothing more. I need to remember that.
A knock at my door interrupts my thoughts.
"Enter."
Corvask steps inside, closing the door behind him. "Madam. If I may speak freely?"
"When have I ever stopped you?"
"The human is proving...difficult."
Despite everything, a smile tugs at my lips. "Yes. He is."
"Perhaps a different approach is needed. He clearly doesn't respond well to authority."
"No. He responds to it perfectly. With defiance and rage." I stand, moving back to the window. "That's exactly what I wanted."
Corvask is silent for a moment. "Madam?"
"I bought him because he's difficult, Corvask. Because he fights. Because he makes me..." I trail off, not sure how to finish the sentence.
"Makes you feel," Corvask supplies quietly.
I glance at him, surprised. My steward has been with me since before my husband died. He knows me better than almost anyone.
"Yes," I admit. "He makes me feel. And I haven't felt anything real in so long I'd almost forgotten what it was like."
"That's risky, Madam."
"I know."
"He's livestock. You can't afford to see him as anything more."
"I know that too." But even as I say it, I know it's a lie. I already see Oliver as more. That's the problem.
Corvask moves toward the door, then pauses. "What do you want me to tell him? About tonight's feeding?"
Tonight. My first session with him. The thought sends heat through my body, anticipation and nervousness warring inside me.
"Tell him nothing. I'll go to him myself when it's time."
"As you wish, Madam."
He leaves, and I'm alone again with my thoughts.
I have hours until evening, hours to prepare myself. But I already know that no amount of preparation will be enough.