Chapter 14
“Neck.”
I stand naked at the threshold, still drowsy from the sleep I fell into after lunch, looking out across the front courtyard. They put my food on a plate with a knife and fork, thankfully. It was rich and filling, making my eyelids droop, especially when the fire was stoked ever so slightly.
Three broad landing pads are set into the limestone near the main gate, each one large enough to hold a Reaver. All three are empty.
Mero looms beside me with the leash in one hand.
I lift my chin and turn my face slightly to the side, presenting my throat to him instantly. He raises the clip towards my collar, then pauses.
“You’ve been very good,” he says. “You may go out alone, on the condition that you spend no more than half of your time in direct sunlight.”
I am about to thank him when I remember that I have not been given permission to speak. Instead, I nod, unable to hide my gratitude completely.
The urge to run strikes me the moment I step outside. Not because I could escape. The smooth walls still surround me on every side. But there is no leash limiting every step, no Aurelian deciding exactly how much distance I am allowed to place between us.
I can go farther than a leash length.
I walk quickly through the archway, the bell tinkling at my throat, then turn left and disappear from their line of sight.
The afternoon sun has begun its slow descent towards the west. It floods the pool and training ground with warm light, while the garden wall on my left casts a broad strip of shade across the limestone.
The garden barely resembles the place I remember.
For the first year I lived in these lands, it was completely overgrown, its beds swallowed by weeds and hungry vines crawling halfway up the walls.
Now those vines have been cut back and trained along neat wooden frames.
Rows of aloe grow beside the sun-warmed stone, with rosemary and sage filling the air around them.
Late tomato plants stand tied to narrow stakes, their branches heavy with fruit.
I begin circling the courtyard.
Past the darker square of the training ground. Along the edge of the long, clear pool. Around the garden and back towards the front of the estate.
One lap.
Then another.
Then another.
Each circuit carries me through almost equal stretches of sunlight and shade, allowing me to obey Mero’s condition without needing a clock. I quicken my pace, enjoying the simple freedom of movement, of deciding for myself where each step will fall.
By the end of the third lap, the bottoms of my feet are beginning to ache.
The soreness is slight, but it infuriates me. Yesterday, I could have crossed miles of broken ground without noticing. Now every join in the limestone presses against skin Talarin made soft and useless.
I return to the garden, intending to sit in the shade. One enormous tomato hangs low beside the path, red and swollen, its skin beginning to split beneath its own weight. I brush my fingertips over it, and the sharp green scent of the plant clings to them.
Then a low hum passes through the estate.
I look up.
A pure-white Reaver sweeps over the outer wall.
It is beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful: sleek, perfectly balanced and shaped entirely for speed and killing.
The attack ship hangs against the blue sky for a heartbeat, predatory and impossibly still, before beginning its descent towards the front courtyard.
I move to the corner of the wall and press one hand against the limestone, leaning just far enough around it to watch.
The Reaver descends with effortless precision and settles onto the middle of the three empty landing pads without a sound.
A few moments later, the smooth white side of the ship opens along a seam that was invisible before. Talarin appears with two enormous duffel bags slung over his shoulders.
Mero and Arrek emerge through the archway. Neither calls for me, so I remain at the corner of the garden wall and watch.
Talarin descends the ramp, then cocks his head back towards the open ship. Mero passes him and disappears inside, returning with a broad case tucked beneath one arm. Arrek follows and emerges carrying two more.
Burning curiosity seizes me, tangled with trepidation. I want desperately to know what is inside every bag and case, yet part of me wishes they would remain closed for the next ninety-nine days.
The three men carry everything through the archway and disappear inside.
A few moments later, Arrek returns alone.
A bright-pink collar hangs from one hand. A polished silver bell sways beneath it, at least twice the size of the one currently hanging at my throat. Every step he takes draws a clear, almost musical chime from it, loud enough to carry across the courtyard.
I have the sudden urge to pull back and hide, but Arrek turns his head towards me.
He smiles.
“Here, girl.”
My cheeks burn. It is exactly how someone would call a dog.
I step out from behind the wall and cross the courtyard towards him.
“Neck.”
I lift my chin and turn my face aside, presenting my throat. Arrek reaches behind my neck and finds the fastening, but he does not open it immediately. His rough fingertips move slowly across the skin Talarin treated, feeling its new softness.
“So soft,” he murmurs. “You’re so soft and delicate now.”
I stand there fuming, my chin raised, uncertain whether I am permitted to lower it.
The fastening finally releases.
For one brief moment, nothing circles my neck.
Then the pink collar closes around it. The bell chimes repeatedly as Arrek adjusts the fit, each movement producing another humiliating note. When he finishes, it settles heavily into the hollow at the base of my throat, between my collarbones, its weight tugging at the collar.
Arrek flicks it with one finger.
A clear, silvery note rings across the courtyard.
The note is sonorous, its tone carrying far across the stone, too beautiful for the degrading purpose it now serves.
Somehow, that makes it worse.
“Circle the estate,” he says. “I want to hear that bell the entire way.”
I begin walking.
Before, moving through the courtyard without a leash felt almost like freedom. Now every step draws another bright note from the bell. I try to move smoothly enough to silence it, but it rings anyway, announcing exactly where I am as I pass the garden, the pool and the training ground.
By the time I complete the circuit and return to him, my face is burning.
Arrek’s wolf grin tells me he heard every step. He runs his hand over his beard as he watches me, and I stand waiting for his next command, because there is nothing else I can do.
“Cage.”
He follows me through the archway and back into the dining hall. I lower myself onto my hands and knees and begin crawling through the little door.
“Stop.”
I freeze with my shoulders inside the cage and my knees still upon the limestone outside it. The low doorway forces my back down and leaves my hips raised behind me, my naked ass framed perfectly within the opening.
The bell gives one final chime before falling silent.
Arrek offers no correction and gives no further command. I feel his gaze moving slowly over me, and his nostrils flare as he draws in my scent.
He timed the command for this exact moment.
He is simply enjoying the view.
I hope he is disappointed when he tastes nothing at all.
He is getting on my fucking nerves, this one, toying with me as though he could have caught me without the help of his smarter battle-brothers. He is just a big fucking muscled oaf.
I look back over my shoulder and stare him down, keeping my expression completely neutral and my emotions firmly under control so he does not get a shred of satisfaction from my annoyance.
I do not even open my mouth to speak.
With a grunt, he waves one hand.
“To bed.”
I crawl the rest of the way inside. Arrek swings the little door shut behind me.
Mero comes back into the dining hall barefoot. His light cream battle robes swish around his legs, and the hilt of his Orb-Blade hangs from his belt. He is carrying another folded set in one hand.
He tosses them to Arrek.
“Come. Let’s train.”
Arrek catches the robes smoothly in one hand and places them over the back of the chair in a single movement. Then, to my shock, he starts unbuttoning his shirt. He pulls it off, folds it neatly and places it beside the robes.
His back is a wall of muscle, with boulders where his shoulders should be. Thick slabs of muscle run from them into his neck. I am half disgusted and half fascinated by the sheer excess of him. He is not lean or lithe like Talarin. He looks like someone made a statue of a shaved bear out of marble.
Suddenly, I do not feel so smart for staring him down. He is looking for any excuse to punish me. This one loved hunting me, and my defiance is only going to make it sweeter when he gets his chance.
Arrek undoes his belt in a movement that looks as though he has performed it a thousand times or more. He places it very carefully across the arm of the chair, the belt hanging down while the hilt of his Orb-Blade rests upon the arm, facing towards him.
His back ripples with every movement, muscles shifting beneath the heavy bulk he has put on over the last six months. He moves a little closer to the chair, and I realize he is keeping the Orb-Blade within reach even here, inside his own estate.
He leans down and pulls his boots off quickly.
Then I hear the zipper of his trousers open.
I feel smaller than before. I cannot stop looking at him. I cannot look away from the spectacle of him.
Arrek pulls his trousers down, revealing a pair of close-fitting black briefs. Then he takes those off too, as casually as though he were alone.
I have seen them naked from afar when they swam, pure-white shapes with something heavy hanging between their legs. But never this close.
Arrek has a well-muscled ass that looks as though it was built for him to drive his hips forward. His legs are tree trunks, and there is a natural certainty in the way he stands. And hanging between his legs…
I gulp.