Chapter 8 #2
They are older. Not old, but older, still possessing all the strength built during their centuries at war.
If they were human, they would look to be in their early forties, or their late thirties at the youngest. Why did they come to this place, and why do they see no one?
Why have they had no visitors? Why have they never taken trips to the capital?
I open my eyes and search my reflection in the mirror. What is it about me that has them so... obsessed?
They could fill this estate with willing women if they wanted. They could sign a harem contract or pay one of the courtesans who come to Colossus after spending years learning how to satisfy Aurelian males. Any of those women would obey without needing to be hunted first.
That would be too easy for them.
What these men want is the woman who escaped them. They want the challenge of forcing something wild into their grasp and proving that it cannot get away again.
I think of Arrek making me eat from his hand. Talarin watching me fasten the collar and becoming hard when I had to ask permission to use the washroom. The way Mero slowly closed his fingers around my leash, as though he wanted to savour the feeling of having me connected to him.
They enjoy my humiliation. My dependence upon them. Every time I need something, they find a way to make me obey before they give it to me.
And yet, they have not truly touched me.
Not without a reason they could explain to the Commissioner.
Mero caught me because I ran. He carried me because I was naked, freezing and accused of a crime. Arrek fed me because I was hungry. Talarin could claim the collar and leash were necessary because I had spent six months escaping them.
Hmmmm.
That excuse feels thinner. I was unarmed, locked inside a cage and surrounded by three enormous Aurelians. There was nowhere for me to go. They did not need a leash to walk me down a corridor.
They wanted it.
They are finding every excuse they can to put their hands on me, command me and make me submit without crossing the final line. They are staying just close enough to the law that they can pretend none of this is sexual, even while their bodies betray them.
These men are sick fucks. They could pay a pittance and have a dozen women on their knees with their mouths open, but they want to break me instead.
The Commissioner changes everything. If they were planning to simply take me, they would have done it in the forest. They would not need an official here.
They want whatever happens next to be legal.
They have caught me committing a crime that might send me to prison, but they do not want me imprisoned. They want something else from me, and they mean to put it in front of me as though I have a choice.
The real trap is not the cage.
It is whatever bargain they intend to offer me when the Commissioner arrives...
And that means I have leverage. Because they do not know I know. I will keep my mouth shut and let them talk until I understand the stakes. Maybe I have a chance. I was on these lands long before them, and ruining the harvest was just an accident. I will not let them twist it into anything else.
I wince, though, thinking of the tendril I used so foolishly to mend my tunic and the little satchel of immature threads back in my nook. I had found that it was the best possible material for stitching up deeper cuts.
When I am finished, I hesitate before the door and draw in a deep breath. Then I roll my eyes at my own frustration and slide the panel open.
Mero is walking back towards me with the leash dangling from one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. He stops several steps away and takes one slow sip, then another.
I stand in the doorway with my hands clasped before me while he enjoys his coffee.
He sets the cup upon one of the recessed stone ledges built into the corridor and clips the leash back onto my collar without any hurry. Then he retrieves his coffee and takes another drink.
I wish I could walk forward and stop standing in the hallway like an idiot, but something warns me not to step ahead of him. I remain where I am and let him take his time.
Only when he is ready does he turn and begin walking. I follow quietly behind him with my eyes lowered, the little bell ringing softly with every step.
Mero leads me back to the dining room, towards the heavy barred cage, and I try not to think about how it will feel when I have to get onto my hands and knees and crawl through the little door.
I know he is going to make me do it, but then he stops as Talarin enters through the archway that leads out to the pool.
Water streams from his thick, swept-back black hair, runs over the hard planes of his face and trails down his marble skin. A towel is wrapped low around his hips, making me pause.
I have watched these men a few more times than I care to admit from my secret perch. Talarin has never once walked inside wearing a towel. These men have no shame.
He put it on for me.
As he walks, water runs in rivulets through the chiselled grooves of his abdomen and gleams against the marble litheness of his body. He possesses the spectral, almost ethereal beauty of an ancient statue standing in a storm, made all the more striking by the rain pouring over it.
From the kitchen, Arrek reaches for another cup.
“After I change,” Talarin says, moving past him. “I saw the Commissioner’s Reaver on the horizon.”
He disappears down the corridor as that word rings through my mind.
Reaver.
Not a civilian shuttle. Why are they sending an attack ship here? Either these men are far more dangerous than I imagined, or a simple civil issue is being taken far more seriously than I expected.
Mero stops, his hand tightening once around the leash. He leads me towards the long heartwood table instead.
I use the slack in the leash to sit as close to the cage as possible, my mind racing. I hate that thing, with its hard wooden bars and the way they split my vision wherever I look, but I endure it.
I feel Mero standing directly behind me. From the corner of my eye, I see one enormous hand moving carefully towards my throat.
My fingers are already becoming far too practised at the mechanism. I unclip the leash before Mero can touch me and place it into his approaching hand, making the movement appear obedient rather than blocking him. I leave the collar fastened around my throat.
He takes the leash, and his slate-grey eyes hold mine.
“You may remove the collar as well.”
There it is.
He does not want the Commissioner to see me wearing it.
I keep my face carefully blank as I reach behind my neck and work the fastening loose. The little black bell gives one final ring before I lift the collar away and place it in Mero’s hand.
“Thank you.”
He coils the leash around the collar and slips both into a deep fold of his white robe. Then he raises his coffee slightly.
“Coffee?”
The fresh, dark scent reaches me immediately. I imagine wrapping both hands around an enormous cup and tasting that first joyous sip, rich and hot and newly brewed.
But the last thing I need is to feel even more anxious than I already do or suffer the humiliation of asking to use the washroom even more often.
“No, thank you.”
Mero drinks without comment, and I’m not sure if I imagine a slight tightening of his eyes.
By the time Talarin returns, moving with that lightness that makes him hard to hear, his black hair has been combed straight back from his face, still dark with wetness.
He is clad in the same kind of formal robe, edged with a narrow line of blue-black, fastened across both shoulders and falling in deep, ordered folds over his chest. Of the three, he seems the most natural in it.
A low hum reaches us through the thick limestone walls, and my body tightens. I place both hands flat upon the edge of the table, its surface almost level with my chest.
All three Aurelians turn towards the sound. Talarin leads the way outside, Arrek following close behind. Mero reaches the doorway last, then stops and looks back at me. His slate-grey eyes study me for a long moment before he continues after his battle-brothers.
The hum deepens until it vibrates through the limestone beneath my feet. A dark shape flashes across the nearest window, briefly swallowing the morning light. The Commissioner’s Reaver descends onto the broad circle of stone beside theirs, where there is room for several warships to land.
Then it falls silent.