Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
OLIVER
Ilie awake in the darkness with the weight of her still beside me.
Primsyn shifted at some point during the night, her body curled against mine like we're lovers instead of captor and captive. Her breath is warm against my shoulder, steady and deep. She's actually asleep. Vulnerable.
I could kill her right now. My hands could be around her throat before she even woke. Snap her neck. End this.
But I don't move. Don't even try.
Because some traitorous part of me doesn't want to. That same part that came undone under her hands, that surrendered so completely. The part that's been lying here for hours, wide awake, feeling the softness of her skin against mine and not hating it as much as I should.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
The moonlight filters through the window, painting silver stripes across her skin. She truly is beautiful. I noticed it before and can’t ignore it. The elegant line of her jaw, the curve of her hip, the way her hair falls across her face in sleep.
My enemy. My owner. Beautiful.
I'm so fucked.
Carefully, trying not to wake her, I shift away. I need distance. Need to think without her warmth clouding my judgment.
Her hand tightens on my hip. "Don't."
So she wasn't asleep after all. Or maybe I woke her. Either way, her silver eyes are open now, watching me in the darkness.
"I need to piss," I lie.
"No, you don't. You're running." Her voice is rough with sleep, intimate in a way that makes my chest tight. "Even lying still, you're running from me."
"Let me go."
"No." She shifts closer instead of away, her thigh sliding between mine. "Not yet."
"Primsyn." I try to sound firm, but it comes out strained. "This wasn't part of the deal."
"What deal?" Her fingers trace patterns on my hip, light touches that make my skin burn. "You're mine, Oliver. All of you. Your body, your time, everything. If I want to lie here with you, I will."
Anger flares, hot and familiar. Good. I can work with anger. "So that's it? You just get to do whatever you want?"
"Yes." Simple. Blunt. Infuriating.
I grab her wrist, stopping those maddening touches. "I'm not your toy."
"No. You're my livestock, my bull. We established this already." But there's something in her eyes that contradicts her words, something that looks almost like regret.
"Then why are you still here?" I demand. "You fed. You got what you needed. Why the fuck are you still in bed with me?"
The question hangs between us. I watch her face, seeing the moment my words land, the way her expression shifts from that cool control to something more raw.
"I don't know," she admits quietly, and that disarms me more than any command could.
We stare at each other, my hand still wrapped around her wrist, her body still pressed against mine. The silence stretches, heavy with things neither of us wants to say.
Finally, she pulls away and sits up. The loss of her warmth is immediate and unwelcome, which only pisses me off more.
"You're right," she says, standing and reaching for her robe. "I should go."
And just like that, the walls are back up. Her voice is cool again, distant, as if the last few hours didn't happen.
I should be relieved. Should want her gone. Instead, I feel something that might be disappointment.
Fuck.
She ties her robe, her movements sharp and controlled. Every inch the wealthy Lactari widow again, no trace of the woman who moaned while tasting me, who curled against my chest like she belonged there.
"Same time tomorrow evening," she says, moving toward the door. All business now. "Be ready."
"And if I'm not?"
She pauses, her hand on the door handle. Looks back at me over her shoulder. "Then I'll make you ready. I’m not opposed to using rope. Your choice in how difficult you want it to be."
The door opens. Closes. The lock clicks.
And I'm alone again.
I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, my body still humming with the aftermath of what we did. What she did to me. I can still feel her hands on my skin, still hear the sound she made when she tasted me.
Incredible.
That's what she called me. Like I was something special, something more than just a meal.
But I'm not. She made that quite clear.
So why did she stay? Why did she lie here with her guard down, like she actually gave a shit?
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to stop the wayward thoughts. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Whatever happened tonight doesn't change that fact.
But I can still feel the ghost of her touch on my skin. Still smell her scent on the sheets. And I hate that I’m already counting down the hours until she comes back.
Primsyn
I make it back to my chambers before my composure completely cracks.
The door closes behind me, and I lean against it, my hands shaking, my breath coming too fast. What the fuck did I just do? Lying there with him like we were...like we were anything other than what we are.
Owner and owned.
Mistress and livestock.
I push away from the door and move to the washbasin, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection stares back at me, and I barely recognize the woman I see. Eyes too bright. Cheeks flushed. Hair wild from sleep.
I look like I've been thoroughly fucked, even though we did nothing beyond what was necessary for feeding. Just his release in my mouth. Just me drinking him in. Just lying together afterward like idiots.
Just.
There's nothing "just" about any of it, and I know it.
His taste lingers on my tongue, rich and potent in a way I've never experienced. I've fed from humans for years, but none of them tasted like Oliver. None of them made power surge through my veins like lightning, made me feel strong and alive yet hungry for more.
And none of them made me want to stay longer.
I dry my face roughly, trying to scrub away the memory of his skin against mine, the sound of his heartbeat under my ear. It doesn't work. Nothing works.
"Madam?" A soft knock at my door. Corvask, probably wondering where I've been.
"What is it?" I call out, not bothering to open the door.
"I wanted to ensure everything went well with the feeding."
Everything went well. Everything went terribly. Both are true.
"It was fine," I lie. "The human cooperated."
"I'm glad to hear it." A pause. "Will you require anything else tonight?"
Yes. I require my sanity back. I require this human to stop affecting me like this.
"No. That's all. Good night, Corvask."
"Good night, Madam." His footsteps fade down the corridor, leaving me alone.
I move to my bed, but I know sleep won't come easily tonight. My body is still thrumming with energy from feeding, from touching Oliver, from the intimacy we shared that we both know we shouldn't have.
Why are you still here?
His question echoes in my head. I didn't have a good answer then, and I don't have one now. I should have left immediately after feeding. Should have maintained a professional distance. That's what any sensible owner would do.
But I'm not feeling particularly sensible where Oliver is concerned.
I remember the way he looked when he came apart under my hands, the desperation and surrender warring on his face. The way he called my name like a prayer and a curse. The way he held me afterward, even though he hates me, even though every instinct probably told him to push me away.
He didn't push me away.
And I didn't leave.
We're both idiots.
I lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling of my chambers. Tomorrow evening I'll have to do this again. Touch him, stroke him, milk him. Feed from him. And I'll have to maintain control, keep my distance, remember what he is.
Livestock.
Property.
…mine.
But even as I try to convince myself, I know it's pointless. Something shifted between us, something neither of us wanted but neither of us could stop. And tomorrow it will shift more, and the day after even more, until we're both too far gone to find our way back.
I'm old enough to know better. I should be able to control myself, my desires. But lying here in my empty bed, I already miss the warmth of him beside me. Already want to go back to his room, crawl under those sheets, and pretend just for a little while longer.
I close my eyes and try to sleep, knowing when tomorrow evening comes, I'll do it all again. Touch him. Taste him. Maybe even stay after.
Oliver
Morning comes with yet a different servant bringing breakfast and the usual silent routine. I eat because I need the strength, because refusing the food will only hurt me. The bread is fresh, the fruit sweet, and the cheese rich. But all of it tastes like ash in my mouth.
You're going to come so hard you'll forget your own name.
She was right. I did. And the worst part? I want to do it again.
I pace the room after eating, trying to work off the restless energy coursing through me. My body feels different today, stronger somehow, like something in Primsyn's feeding awakened parts of me that were dormant. It doesn't make sense, but I can feel it in my muscles, in my blood.
With nothing to do but obsessively calculate how many hours left until nightfall, I think of her.
Stop it!
But I can't. She's everywhere, and it’s so fucking confusing.
I need to escape, to get out of here before this gets worse, before I start wanting things I have no right to want. But it’s hopeless. The word settles in my chest like a brick.
Around midday, the door unlocks again. I tense, expecting another servant, but it's Corvask who enters. He carries clothing over one arm, his expression as neutral as ever.
"Madam Primsyn has requested you join her for the midday meal," he announces.
I stare at him. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me correctly. She wishes for your presence at lunch." He sets the clothing on the bed. "Please dress appropriately. I'll return in ten minutes to escort you."
He leaves before I can protest.
I look at the clothes he brought. Nicer than the simple trousers I've been wearing: dark pants, a fitted shirt, even shoes. As if I were a guest.
What the hell is she playing at?
The clothes fit well, clearly tailored for someone my size. Did she have these made for me? How long has she been planning this?
Corvask returns exactly ten minutes later, his timing impeccable. He looks me over with an appraising eye and gives a small nod of approval.
"This way."
I follow him through corridors I haven't seen before, taking in every detail. Old habits. Even if escape seems impossible, I need to know the layout of this place.
We end up in a smaller dining room, intimate compared to what I imagine the formal dining hall looks like. Tall windows overlook the grounds. A table set for two. And standing by the window is Primsyn.
She's dressed formally today, her hair pulled back in that severe style, every inch the wealthy widow. But when she turns and sees me, relief or pleasure or both, flicker in her eyes.
"Oliver. Thank you for joining me."
"I had a choice?" I mutter.
A smile tugs at her lips. "You always have a choice. You could have refused to dress, refused to leave your room. I would have had to drag you here, and that would have been unpleasant for both of us." She gestures to the chair across from her. "Please."
I sit, wary and confused. Corvask bows and leaves, closing the door behind him, and we're alone.
"Why am I here?" I ask.
Primsyn settles into her chair with the perfect posture she always maintains. "Because I wanted your company."
"My…company."
"Yes."
"I'm cattle, remember? Why would you want me at your table?"
Something tightens in her expression. "Perhaps I'm tired of eating alone."
The words land heavier than they should, hinting at a loneliness I wasn't expecting. For a moment, I see past the owner, past the Mistress, to the woman underneath. The one who stayed in my bed last night like she needed the contact.
"This is fucked," I say under my breath.
"I'm aware." She looks down at her hands, folded neatly on the table. "But I'm doing it anyway."
Servants enter with food, an array of dishes that smell incredible. They serve us both and leave quickly, clearly trained to be invisible. The silence stretches as we sit there with full plates, neither of us eating.
"I need to understand," I finally say. "What is this? What are you doing?"
Primsyn picks up her fork, studying it like it holds the answers to the universe. "I don't know," she admits. "I'm breaking my own rules. Going against everything logical. And I can't seem to stop myself."
"Then let me go."
Her eyes snap to mine. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because I need you." The words are raw. "Not just for feeding. I need...this. You. Whatever this is between us."
My heart is pounding. "There's nothing between us. You're my captor. I'm your prisoner."
"Is that really all we are?" She leans forward, her silver eyes intense. "Then why did you hold me last night? Why didn't you push me away?"
"I..." I don't have an answer. I can't find the words to explain something I don't understand myself.
"Exactly." She sits back with a sad smile on her lips. "We're both lying to ourselves, Oliver. Both pretending this is simple when it's anything but."
I want to argue. Want to deny it. But sitting here across from her, seeing the vulnerability she's trying so hard to hide, I can't.
Because she's right. And that terrifies me more than anything else.