Chapter 5 #2
If I have any chance of getting out of here, I need my strength.
I have been eating less than I should while trying to fill my winter stores.
I know my mind is rationalizing, telling me anything it can to get that meat into my stomach, even if I have to humiliate myself and take it from his hand as if he owns me.
Arrek tears away a fresh piece with his fingers. The meat glistens between them when he offers it again.
I keep the fur clutched in one hand over my breasts and crawl forward.
The fur slips lower with the movement. I catch it before it can fall, but not before the upper slope of one breast is exposed to his gaze.
My cheeks burn.
He waits.
I lean towards his hand and take the meat with my mouth. Rich juice floods my tongue. The duck is tender enough to fall apart, its crisp skin salty and covered in spices.
It is better than anything I can remember eating.
Arrek tears off another piece. This time the juice coats his fingertips. I hesitate before closing my lips around the meat, but hunger wins. My tongue passes over the pad of his thumb as I take it.
His nostrils flare.
He feeds me a third bite, watching every movement of my mouth.
My lips close around his huge finger, and the shame reaches a crescendo as his cock throbs beneath his trousers like it wants to rip through the material.
I know he’s imagining me sucking his cock, and I do everything I can to resist the image before my body can respond and let him taste it in my scent.
I pull back quickly, swallowing hard, but hunger keeps me there. I look up at him again, silent.
Fuck.
He can see it in my eyes. I’m practically begging for more.
I’m only playing a part, I tell myself.
Talarin appears beside Arrek carrying a small stone bowl filled with duck, potatoes, carrots, pearl onions, and thick pieces of milkroot.
Arrek rises and moves aside, adjusting his swollen cock beneath his trousers with a grunt. Talarin takes his place before the cage and crouches, his white robes settling around him.
He passes the bowl between the bars. His hand follows, then his wrist and a long stretch of his forearm as he lowers it onto the floor in front of me.
Their arms can fit through the bars.
Something else could too.
The thought flashes through my mind before the smell of the food overwhelms everything else.
I seize the bowl and retreat to the farthest corner of the cage.
To my surprise, inside it are a metal fork and knife, both made for Aurelian hands.
The fork is unwieldy, its handle thick. The knife is practically a dagger, yet I realize that any one of them could take it from me with ease. They have no fear of me at all.
I try to eat with the fork anyway, gripping it awkwardly in my fist. The duck is rich and tender. The potatoes have crisped in its fat, and the milkroot is even better than I remember, chewy beneath my teeth with that light, creamy taste.
I eat every piece.
The last sounds of cutlery stop above me.
The benches creak and Mero’s chair scrapes against the limestone as the three men rise and begin preparing to retire.
Before they can see me, I quickly use my fingers to gather everything the oversized fork could not reach, licking them clean before running my tongue around the bowl to get every last drop.
Only then do I lower the empty bowl.
Talarin returns to the cage and lowers himself into a crouch without a sound.
There is a mastery to every movement, each one practised until it became instinct, yet carried out with his complete attention.
His slate-grey eyes remain fixed upon me as he holds out his left hand, barely extending it between the bars.
His exposed forearm is thick, veins raised beneath marble skin.
He is not quite as tall as the leader, nor as broad as the bearded beast, but his strength is somehow more intimidating because of its utter control.
Arrek could tear a tree from the earth, but this man, this alien titan, looks as though he could wrap his hand around a skull and squeeze until it cracked open.
I get a sudden, visceral image of that hand around my neck, the vein in my throat throbbing against his palm, and the total helplessness of knowing that one tiny squeeze is all it would take.
I make sure the fur remains secured around my body as I return the empty bowl with the oversized fork and knife inside it. Talarin takes them without a word. He rises with that same coiled control, every part of his body moving exactly as he intends.
I hear the men clearing the table while I huddle in the corner. The sink runs for a few moments. It is ridiculous that they are doing any of this themselves. They could hire a human to cook and clean for almost nothing, or install a machine that would do all of it without being asked.
Mero comes to me. A faint trace of cologne reaches me as he approaches, subtle and clean, carrying something that reminds me of salt and distant ocean air.
He does not kneel. He places one massive hand on top of the cage and looks down at me, towering over the bars and casting me into his shadow. His body is under control again, his cock only a thick bulge beneath his trousers instead of an iron rod, but his slate-grey eyes remain fixed upon me.
“Do not attempt to escape. You won’t be able to. But if you try, I’m going to punish you.”
His voice is perfectly flat. He keeps looking down at me. He does not ask for an answer, but I can tell he is waiting for one.
“I won’t,” I whisper.
Mero turns and walks away. Several steps from the cage, he draws in a deep breath.
I realize he was trying not to breathe while he stood over me.
Aurelians pay fortunes for virgins. The untouched scent is said to drive them wild. Some wealthy triads buy three at once, one virgin for each warrior to break in at the same time so that all three can enjoy ruining a woman in unison.
But it worries me that they might believe my scent means something more.
They cannot think I might be their Mate.
Can they?
Many women can carry the scent of a potential Mate and have it mean nothing more than a high bid in a virginity auction that leads only to another disappointment.
There is only one true Mate for an Aurelian triad, one woman in the universe who can complete their Bond.
The Mating Rage does not prove anything.
These three have been here for six months without seeding a woman, not once travelling to the capital to visit the pleasure houses. They have six months of pent-up need searching for an outlet. But Mero still held his breath rather than risk drawing my scent deeply into his lungs.
That makes me nervous. The last thing I want is to be special to these three. There’s nothing more obsessive than a triad and their Mate...
Though the idea of a lifespan extended into centuries, or even millennia...
I force the thought away. Better to have a natural life than spend thousands of years as a breeding sow.
Arrek stops beside the hearth and takes up the iron poker. He stirs the embers that slow-cooked our meal, sending a scatter of sparks up the chimney, then looks towards me. He says nothing. He adds another thick log to the fire and walks away.
One by one, the candles are extinguished.
Aurelians have access to the most powerful technology of any species, but these three seem to eschew it inside their home. Soon, only the fire remains, its light moving over the white-stone walls and through the bars around me.
The house becomes silent. I close my eyes, and for the first time since they caught me, I begin to relax.
Then the realization comes.
I need to pee.