Chapter 39 Burn
BURN
Burn stood in the middle of his room, arms crossed over his chest, scowling at the absurdly oversized bed.
It looked less like a place to sleep and more like a training mat built for giants—hell, all three of them could curl up in one corner and still have space left over.
The whole house was like that. Oversized… alien…unsettling.
Gods, I hate sleeping alone, he thought, glancing at the heavy wooden headboard.
The last time he’d slept in a bed without Bright close by had been…
what? Years ago? Longer? Even on the Mother Ship, they always shared quarters.
They didn’t touch—that was a boundary neither one of them would cross—but Bright’s presence grounded him and held the nightmares at bay.
Now, with these massive empty rooms and the echo of that damn Trollox’s laughter still rattling in his ears, Burn felt…off balance. Vulnerable in a way he didn’t care to admit.
He shook himself and forced his attention to the room itself.
Aside from the hulking bed, there was a wardrobe built of some dark, oily-smelling wood, so tall he had to crane his neck to see the top.
The handles were as thick as his forearm.
Burn pulled one open, expecting to see nothing but empty shelves.
Instead, to his surprise, there were clothes—neatly folded, almost as if someone had been expecting guests. Or maybe prisoners, he thought grimly.
He pulled out a pair of black trousers, rough-woven and sturdy.
They looked like they might fit him, so Burn tried them on.
They were a bit tight around his thighs, but anything was better than the fucking leather loincloth.
He stripped it off and threw it across the room.
He found a loose shirt too, but decided to stay bare-chested for now—his skin was still burning from all the stress and his nerves were as tight as steel cables.
As he buckled the trousers, he wondered, Whose clothes are these? Who wore them last?
He didn’t like the possible answers that rose to his mind.
He heard a noise at the door and turned—Bright stood there, looking a little lost in the cavernous hallway, still wearing his own tight loincloth.
“Hey—where’d you get the clothes?” Bright asked, looking Burn up and down.
“Found them in my closet. There’s more if you want to wear something else,” Burn grunted, jerking his chin toward the wardrobe.
Bright stepped inside eagerly—he clearly didn’t like wearing the leather loincloth any more than Burn did. He dug through the shelves and found another pair of trousers in dark gray, and a shirt that actually fit his broad shoulders.
He slid into the clothes, frowning as he buttoned the shirt.
“I wonder who these belonged to? It’s clear we’re not the first humanoid ‘guests’ this Trollox has had.” He looked up, troubled. “So what happened to the others?”
Burn didn’t have an answer.
Maybe they escaped. Maybe they didn’t. Maybe they’re rotting somewhere out in that massive garden, feeding the flowers with their bones.
He shoved the thought aside—it didn’t help anyone to spiral.
Before he could say anything, the door opened again and Noelle came in. She looked small, flushed, and fierce, her breasts still jutting obscenely through that shiny green dress, cheeks pink from embarrassment or nerves or both.
“You changed clothes!” she exclaimed, eyes going wide as she stared at Burn’s bare chest, then at Bright’s buttoned shirt. “I want new clothes too!”
“I’m afraid all of these are going to be too big for you, baby,” Burn said, motioning to the closet.
His tone came out rougher than he intended—he didn’t mean to sound possessive, but the sight of her so exposed and vulnerable, the silver collar gleaming around her neck, made something dark rise in his chest.
Mine, a voice whispered deep inside. Ours.
“I don’t care how big they are as long as they cover me. I’m tired of walking around all exposed!” she exclaimed, frustration written plain on her face. “Plus, this damn collar keeps shocking me every time I accidentally touch myself.”
She strode to the closet and began pulling out shirts, holding them up against herself for size. Finally, she picked an oversized men’s shirt—probably meant for a Kindred-sized male or something close—and shrugged it on over the sparkling green evening gown.
As soon as she had it on, Noelle let out a long sigh, voice trembling with relief.
“Ah, that’s better.” She tugged the hem down, finally able to cover her breasts and her soft, curvy body.
Burn couldn’t help thinking privately that he’d enjoyed seeing her luscious tits and her berry-dark nipples. But he didn’t blame her—he’d hated that fucking loincloth too and the way it left him exposed and vulnerable for the amusement of others.
Suddenly, his stomach growled, long and low. He grimaced, glancing at Bright, who raised an eyebrow.
“I heard that—you must be as hungry as I am,” Bright remarked.
“Gods, it feels like we haven’t eaten in days,” Burn muttered, rubbing a hand over his abs. They’d been given food the night before in the Skow prison ship, but only a third of it had been edible—if you could call it “food” at all.
“I’m hungry too,” Noelle said, one hand unconsciously rubbing her belly. “Do you think we ought to go find the kitchen?”
“If we want to eat, I guess we’d better go,” Burn growled, his tone dark but resigned. “The Trollox said the chef would feed us—right?”
“Right—and maybe we can get some information out of him,” Bright speculated, sounding hopeful. “Come on—let’s go.”
Burn led the way, his body still tense with the urge to protect and defend. He didn’t trust this place—not the cavernous halls or the too-quiet echo of their own footsteps, or the lingering stench of the Trollox that seemed to cling to every stone and stick in the house.
As they moved through the massive corridors, he kept one eye on Noelle, making sure she was safely sandwiched between him and Bright. Every instinct screamed at him to protect her, to keep her close, to do something to get them out of this place.
Gods, what kind of food do Trollox eat anyway?
He remembered stories from his childhood, warnings about the monsters—the ones that devoured the flesh of weaker species. He’d never wanted to be a vegetarian before, but suddenly the idea of eating anything prepared in this kitchen made his skin crawl.
Still…better than starving, he thought reluctant. For now, anyway. We have to keep up our strength if we’re going to get out of here.
He just hoped they would find a way out soon.