5. Kai’rin
5
KAI’RIN
I roll my shoulders as I stride into one of the open chambers after training, wings flaring wide before settling against my back. Unlike some of the xaphan, I live off the military compound but there are always rooms to use when I need them.
And today I will.
My little flame stands near the doorway, having been brought up at my request, head bowed in that deceptively submissive pose. But I've caught the fire in those deep brown eyes, the way she studies everything around her.
"Draw a bath." The command comes out rough. Sweat still clings to my skin from sparring, and the ache in my muscles demands attention.
Her steps are measured as she moves to the washroom. The sound of running water fills the silence. Steam curls through the doorway while I unbuckle my armor, letting each piece clatter to the floor. Let her clean it up later.
When she returns, I'm down to my training pants. Her gaze catches on my bare chest, tracing the scars that mark victories earned in battle. Most flinch away. She doesn't.
In fact, her eyes trace me like she doesn't want to look away. Like she wants to memorize my body. My cock jerks at the thought.
"See something you like, little flame?"
A flush colors her tan skin, but she doesn't look away. "I'm meant to serve you."
"Then serve." I close the distance between us, towering over her smaller frame. "Remove these." I gesture to my remaining clothes.
Her fingers tremble as she reaches for the fastenings, but her movements stay precise. Clinical. Like she's forcing herself to stay detached. It makes me want to shatter that careful control.
Especially when her eyes widen as I step out of my clothes and she takes in my body. She can act like nothing breaks her, but I see it there. She's at least attracted to me.
Which is good considering I can't get her out of my fucking head.
The water beckons, but I take my time stepping out of my clothes. Let her see exactly what she's dealing with. What owns her now.
I always like to start with psychological warfare. Shame and fear can eat away at the strongest resolve until nothing remains but an empty shell eager to please. But Aren... she keeps surprising me.
Her gaze travels the length of my body as I cross to the baths, lingering in ways that send heat through my blood. There's no fear in those eyes. Only a curiosity that makes me want to push further, see how far I can make her bend before she breaks.
"Attend me." I sink into the steaming water, stretching my wings out to their full span. The scarred edges catch the lamplight as water droplets trail down the ash-gray feathers.
And she does. Quietly. Carefully. She does everything I ask, but there's an underlying tension beneath it all as her hands glide along my skin.
I could take her. Use her. But breaking bodies has never been my strong suit. And I want her soul, her willing submission, before I have her. Because I know that there is no way I'm not going to take everything she is for my own.
The next morning, I drag my little flame to the training grounds. Her quiet footsteps trail behind me as other xaphan warriors gather for combat practice. Perfect. Time to remind her exactly what kind of monster owns her.
"Watch." I push her toward the stone benches ringing the arena. "Don't look away."
My opponent steps forward - some low-ranking soldier whose name I've never bothered to learn. His mottled brown wings mark him as common stock. Disposable.
I roll my shoulders, magic crackling along my skin as violet light dances between my fingers. The soldier circles, searching for weakness. Amateur. I let him come at me, waiting until the last possible moment before sidestepping. My elbow connects with his spine. The crack echoes across the grounds.
He stumbles but recovers. Determined. I'll fix that.
Lightning arcs from my hands, catching his left wing. Feathers singe and smoke. He screams - music to my ears. My gaze flicks to Aren. She leans forward, chin propped on her hand. Studying. Analyzing. Where's the horror I expected?
Growling, I launch myself at my opponent. My wings snap open, using the momentum to drive him into the ground. Bones crunch under my grip. Blood sprays as I slam his face into the packed dirt again and again.
"Yield!" He chokes out the word through broken teeth.
I grab his wings, twisting until tendons tear and joints pop. His screams turn desperate. Beautiful. But when I look at Aren again, she's still watching with that same measured interest. Like she's memorizing my moves rather than cowering from them.
Fury burns in my chest. I release my opponent, leaving him whimpering in the dirt. Other warriors drag him away for healing while I stalk toward my little flame.
"Enjoyed the show?" My voice comes out as a snarl.
Those deep brown eyes meet mine without flinching. "Your form is exceptional, my lord. Especially the way you use your wings for balance during close combat."
My hands clench at my sides. Where's the fear? The disgust? Instead she's treating this like some kind of combat lesson. It sets my teeth on edge.
I drag her to my weapons chamber, shoving a cleaning cloth into her delicate hands. "Clean them. Every last one." The wall bristles with blades - daggers, swords, axes - each one stained with violence like today's.
Her fingers close around the first blade - my favorite dagger with its wicked curve and serrated edge. I expect hesitation, maybe even revulsion at the dried blood crusting the steel. Instead, she traces the ceremonial runes etched into the metal with something like... fascination.
"These markings..." Her thumb follows a spiral pattern near the hilt. "They're prayers to your god, aren't they?"
Heat flares under my skin. I don't know why I hate her asking, her reverence as she says it. Maybe it's because my god is real - is great - and hers are false.
Or maybe it's because I've never had anyone admire something of mine. I don't know how to react to it.
"Did I tell you to admire them?" I snap, but my eyes track her movements as she works. Her methodical strokes polish the steel until it gleams. Those small hands cradle each blade with unexpected care, like she's handling holy relics instead of tools of war.
She moves to my broadsword next. The massive weapon should look absurd in her grip, but she manages it with surprising grace. Her fingers dance along the fuller, cleaning away gore while examining the intricate scrollwork.
"The craftsmanship is extraordinary." Her voice carries genuine appreciation. "Each rune flows into the next, creating a complete prayer."
My wings twitch with irritation. Or something else entirely. "You're here to clean, not analyze."
But I can't look away as she works her way through my arsenal. Every weapon receives the same reverent attention. She doesn't rush or recoil from the evidence of violence. If anything, she seems to lose herself in studying each blade's unique markings.
I stay with her until she's done and then dump her back into her cell. Maybe she is some kind of magic wielder because as I head to the mess hall, I feel like she is scrambling my brain.
As soon as I stride into the crowded building, I know that the evening meal is going to grate on my nerves. Whispers follow my movements, eyes tracking me after having Aren out near the training ring today.
Verrax, a lower-ranked commander with muddy brown-gray wings, leans across the table. "Still keeping that human pet? Thought you would've been done with her by now."
My fork scrapes against the plate. "Your point?"
"Just unusual to see you invested in one slave for so long. Normally you'd have discarded her by now."
The hall falls silent as I rise, wings spreading to cast shadows over the table. Violet light crackles between my fingers. "Questioning my methods?"
Verrax's throat bobs. "No, I merely-"
My hand closes around his neck, lifting him from his seat. His wings flap uselessly as I slam him against the wall. "Merely what?"
Blood trickles from where my nails dig into his flesh. Infighting among xaphan is so common that most aren't even watching. And no one will come to his aid.
If you aren't strong enough to fight off your attackers, you don't deserve to be saved. At least as a warrior.
"Nothing." Verrax chokes out the word. "Forgive me."
I squeeze harder, feeling cartilage crack under my grip. "Next time you wonder about my choices, remember this moment."
His face turns purple before I release him. He crumples to the floor, gasping. Other officers avert their eyes as I return to my seat.
But I know they are right. This obsession for me is only growing, and I want more. I want to push her, bend her, break her. I want to see her shatter for me . I want her devotion to me.
The thought of it all, of punishing that defiance out of her sends arousal coursing through my veins. But not here. Not on this compound with lesser warriors watching. I'll take my time breaking through her walls in private.
Which means I need to make new arrangements for her.