🔥The Captain's Slave part 19 🔥

Previously…

"Malik," speaks War. "I cannot have you fighting my masters."

I'm irritable from a lack of sleep. Jealous and on edge.

"Come on, War. We both know you want me here more badly than I need your protection. Let's not forget how a few weeks ago, you begged me to retire you. Let's go to a tent. Let's talk."

PRESENTLY

GRACE

Malik walks off with General War. Angry and audacious in a typical Malik style. He doesn't give a fuck about showing respect for his former boss.

The General's calm makes me wonder if Malik was more than a soldier in this camp. What was his rank before he retired?

An entertainer walks up to me and smiles brightly. Her clothes are transparent and reveal her toned body. She's beautiful and confident. Everything that I'm not.

"Welcome to camp. My name is "Ca'ara."

I clear my throat. "Hello. I'm Grace."

It's strange, standing here like a free woman. Interacting with someone who is neither my master nor a slave. Those are the only people I've interacted with for years. And as much as I hate to say it, I have no direction with Malik here. I feel like I'm dependent on him.

There's nothing to clean around here. No one to serve. And it's killing me because that's what makes me tick.

Ca'ara gestures toward a massive grey tent with an open top, smoke rising from above. "You must be hungry. Please, follow me."

My shoulders slightly relax. As if relieved to be given direction. It's pathetic. I don't want to look helpless or like a lost child. I want to be independent, but I know I have a long way there.

I wonder what this change means for Malik and I. Am I still his servant, or do I belong to the camp now? Do I answer to General War before Malik? And what about him? Is he a soldier again?

Oh, Ancestors. When did things become so complicated? We were just in his home, our thoughts muddied by the haze of seduction. And now we have the law chasing us down for a murder.

Ca'ara leads me to the large tent, which I presume is a dining hall or a kitchen. I try to keep my gaze low–a tactic of survival that I learned when I was a slave. But curiosity keeps my gaze wandering. I know I'm inviting trouble by staring at every entertainer and master that we pass, but I can't help it. This camp is…wild, raw, and lively.

The females walk around elegantly, prepared to take on any master. They aren't intimidated by the leather and fur-clad giant males.

The masters' expressions are blank–much like Malik's was in the beginning. They walk around with weapons sheathed at their sides, their boots dusty, and their hands always occupied. Some of them transport crates. Others hold smoking pipes. But their hands are always holding something. 

This, too, reminds me of Malik. He could never stand still. Could never sit on the porch and enjoy the sunset. He was always keeping himself busy.

I stumble when my eyes settle on a female. A human female. Her eyes are brown like mine. A rarity in the sea of the Zolan red irises. She laughs as she talks to another female.

Ca'ara notices that I've stopped and turns to face me. "That is General War's wife, Joan. She's nice. Started off as a servant and somehow got entangled with the General."

Joan…why does that name sound so familiar?

And then I remember. When Malik asked me to change my name, I suggested Joanna. He denied me this, and I never understood why.

Now I know. It's because of her. Because of Joan.

She may be the General's wife, but she's very much deserving of admiration. She's beautiful. She stands out among the crowd with her unique, foreign features. She seems kind as she sets a hand on her friend's shoulder and chuckles.

It wouldn't surprise me if Malik once loved her. If that's why he didn't find me worthy of being named Joanna.

If he was attracted to me because I reminded him of Joan. Maybe he couldn't have her because she belonged to the General, and I was the second choice because my eyes resembled hers. My beauty is a shadow of hers.

"Grace?" comes Ca'ara's worried voice.

A tremble works its way through my body. I blink rapidly, finding my eyes teary.

You stupid, stupid girl.

"Sorry," I reply. "I'm alright. Do you know Malik? A former master?"

"Ah, yes, Malik. All the entertainers wanted him, but he only gave his time of day to a handful. It was a shame when he left."

I don't care that Malik has a past with entertainers. But it kills me to feel like the replacement of a female he loved.

"Was he friends with Joan?" I whisper. My fists clenching as I try to become shrink.

"Yes. They were quite close."

I smile, but I know it doesn't reach my eyes. My mind is a thousand miles away, wondering about everything that could have been.

I feel like an imposter.

Of course, Malik would have no other reason to be attracted to a tragic slave girl like me.

This is why he didn't feel comfortable speaking about his past. Why he didn't mention what life in the military was like. Because it reminded him of her.

Ca'ara leads me into the kitchen. I'm seated on a corner stool and handed a bowl of cold stew. Ca'ara says goodbye and gives me space, sensing something bothering me.

Now I sit alone. Servants busle around, trying to get things done. My feet shift below me as I consider jumping into the madness. To scrub pots until my hands are raw, and Malik is the furthest thing in my mind.

I've never felt so insecure before. It's detrimental. It's embarrassing. Because we're in such a perilous situation as we run from the law, and I'm being a jealous, immature girl.

But there's no avoiding it. I know Malik will pick up on my mood. He knows how to read me.

He knows how to get under my skin.

— —

Ca'ara returns after a while to lead me to Malik's tent.

It's empty except for the bed lined with furs, two empty crates, a small table, and a sizeable unlocked chest.

Malik was gone for hours. I hoped that he wasn't being short with the General. We just got here. I don't want us to be kicked out.

When he returns later that evening, he finds me sitting by the table, watching the candle cast shadows on the tent's hide.

"You're back," I say, rising from my seat.

He sighs. "I apologize for my tardiness. War and I had a lot to… negotiate."

"Negotiate?"

He nods. "I'm going back into service until the coast is clear to decide otherwise."

Yeah, I figured as much. We will have to carry our weight to stay in camp.

"The entertainer was nice. Ca'ara. She showed me around."

"Oh?" he replies, kicking off his boots by the entrance and shrugging off his tunic, revealing the hard abdomen that I last caressed when we were in his home.

I quiet down, unsure how to continue the conversation without sounding desperate.

"Grace?" he asks, folding his tunic and draping it on a stool by the table. "What is it?"

"Uh…Ca'ara told me about Joan."

"Are you surprised that she's human?"

"Well, yes. But…Malik, did you love her?"

He frowns. "Pray tell what you are going on about, Grace. I am tired from riding all day."

I entwine my fingers anxiously. "You didn't let me choose the name Joanna. Is it because of her?" I whisper.

"Yes," he replies. And my heart all but drops to my stomach.

"But not because of the reasons you're thinking." He seems frustrated as he runs a hand through his hair and down his stubbled cheek. Like he wants to be anywhere but here. I feel guilty, but I knew that if I lay in bed without asking him about it, it would eat me alive. Fester in my mind and gut like a fever.

"Is this not enough?" he asks, expanding his arms. "I freed you from slavery. I asked you to marry me. I abandoned my retirement and rode you into my past to protect you. And yet you still question my fealty to you? What will be enough, Grace? The writing is on the hide. Why do you make it so hard to love you?"

Damned tears prickle my eyes again, and I blink repeatedly. I'm sad.  Because I'm hearing what he's saying, but my insecurities scream louder.

Imposter. Replacement.

His long legs cross the space between us, and I find myself wrapped in his arms.

"Is this not enough?" he asks, lowering his lips to mine and kissing me with the same passion as always. Breathtaking, heart-stuttering passion that warms me from head to toe. I could never tire of this type of fever.

His hands squeeze my ass lewdly, ripping my pants down my legs and yanking my sandals off. It all happens so fast that I don't realize I'm naked until he lifts me and wraps my legs around his waist.

He returns his lips to mine and secures his hands on my hips, guiding them. Dragging my bare pussy against his abdomen, smearing my slick on his skin. Making me grind against him. It's all so filthy. The scent of his musk after a long day of travel. The crackling sound of my sex's wetness as it smudges on him, the way he violently bounces me with his hands until my braid becomes undone. The way our silhouette is cast on the hide for all camp members to see as they walk by the tent.

I moan as pleasure begins to build. As Malik fucks me with mere friction. His cocks are hard and ready for penetration just inches below, but he doesn't need them to get me to peak. He is so virile and robust that he can wretch an orgasm and a scream from me with pathetic friction.

His face becomes a blur as he makes me ride him. My hair is wild around my shoulders, and my teeth clatter from the force of his onslaught.

I throw my head back and clench my teeth as I orgasm. Digging my nails into Malik's shoulders as my sex gushes on his abdomen.

"There," he says, voice deep. "Is that fucking enough?"

Slowly, he lowers me to my feet. My knees are weak as I lower myself to pick up my pants from the floor and pull them up my legs.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I didn't mean…" I swallow and sit on a stool before my shaky knees betray me. "I didn't mean to upset you. I was just jealous."

He grunts and turns as if to leave the tent. But he stops. He faces me again and lowers himself to his knees before me.

His face is stern, and his pants are indented as he kneels and stares at me.

"Joan was part of the reason I retired from the military, but not for the reasons you fear. I saw her rise from a lowly, bullied servant to a great woman befitting War's side. She was kind and curious about the world. There was an innocence to her. She saw me as a friend and often sought my company, but I felt nothing for her. Not even friendship. I don't know why because she deserved it, and I knew that I was hurting her. I was capable of feeling such warmth for other masters–for my brothers. But nothing for her. I thought I was broken after so many years of war. I felt more like a beast than a man, so I sought retirement to find myself again."

"Oh, Malik."

He didn't love Joan. He couldn't even befriend her. And I made all these awful memories surface because I was insecure.

"I'm so sorry," I say, reaching for his face to cup it. "You're not broken."

"I know," he replies, eyes narrowing on my lips. "And it took finding you to realize that."

READ PART 20>