The Captain’s Slave part 9

MALIK

“You’re jealous about the new company,” I accuse her.

I hit the nail right on the head. She envies the attention I give the new girl.

Her fists clench and her lips purse. Her eyes shoot arrows through me.

“A ridiculous notion,” she grits out. “To have jealousy, one must also have attraction. And I feel no such thing for you, master Malik.”

She lies through her teeth. Through those little human teeth that are duller than mine.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly, a testament to her rage. Breasts that are much too full; fuller than the typical Zolan woman. Brown eyes I’ve only seen once before. This woman is a mix of two worlds.

I come toe-to-toe with her, wrapping my arms around her and lowering my face. I enjoy the way she tenses and coils in my embrace. Everything she knows about survival goes out the window. She’s rendered frozen; a subconscious form of submission that drives me wild. She is mine for the taking. I could kiss her right now; fill my mouth with her tongue—or a nipple which color I’m dying to see—and she wouldn’t stop me.

“Listen closely,” I tell her in rumbling words.

Her heart is the only part of her that rebels. It beats so quickly that I can hear it and feel it against my chest.

“I have had many women in my arms before. Beautiful entertainers from all over Zolan. And none of them were able to capture anything but my seed. If that’s what you want, say it now and I’ll give it to you. But I will not tolerate any more of your infernal temper tantrums! Own your desire if that’s what you feel. Ask me to fuck you and I’ll bend you over like a common—“

She slaps me. A flash of heat across my cheek that makes me eat the rest of my words.

“I’m no whore!” She roars, pushing my chest and stepping back. “I’m your servant. Either respect me or beat me brutally, but do not stand on the middle and give me a fucked up concoction of attraction and hate!”

She rips herself away, and I watch her run off as the other servant girl chases her.

I’m too shocked to move. I’ve taken many strikes before—from fists and weapons—but the attacks always came from males. I never had a problem returning the offense, but Seven is very much female. I cannot strike her.

She slapped me.

I touch my stubbled cheek in disbelief. I was a brute to her, that much is true. It was a calculated move to put a stop to whatever was brewing between us. Feeling jealous and possessive of me is unacceptable.

My offer to her was legitimate—I would have fucked her, but that would have been all I could offer. She needed to know this.

I will never become what General War became. I will never lose my heart—if it even exists—to a brown eyed, mystical girl.

She’s my servant, and I’m willing to upgrade her to my mistress. But she will be no more.

It seems like she has stamped her answer to my offer with her hand.

I grunt, irritated by this predicament. I have more important things to settle around the land. Fences to mend, wood to chop and doors to build. Crops to plant and ceilings to patch. I'm good at working with my hands. This is what I did at the camp to stay busy.

But dealing with upset females? I would rather charge a platoon with a wooden sword than communicate emotions with a female.

When did things become so complicated? I have only been home for a few days. Part of me wonders if it would be easier if I kept taking my numbing medication.

I wait in the kitchen, getting angrier by the second. I must adress what happened here today, but I’m not sure how. I can’t strike her back or scream at her like I could a master.

The other girl, Kitto, returns home first. She finds me in the kitchen, balancing a knife between my fingers.

She approaches me with her head low, cautiously. Testing the waters to see if I’m out for blood.

“Where is she?” I ask, my voice smoky like I’m about to breathe fire.

“She’s outside. Please…please forgive her, master. She wasn’t thinking.”

I exhale through my nose. “You must pack your things. I will give you coin to settle down elsewhere, but you may not stay here.”

She gapes. “But…but master. I wanted to serve you. To show my gratitude.”

“That won’t be possible. I’m sorry.”

There’s not enough space for her here. Not with Seven and I clashing.

“Is this because of Seven? Because of her…” she gulps. “Her jealousy?”

“I have no reason to discuss that with you.”

“But why does Seven get to stay? She told me she has only served you for a few days, so what difference will it make?”

It’s a fair question. A good one. They’re both capable servant girls. Any of them would do. And yet something makes Seven special.

Her brown eyes? Her unpredictability?

“She gets to stay because she would never ask me the questions you’re asking me. She would walk away with her head held high if she was told she wasn’t wanted. That’s why she gets to stay. Because she has nothing, and yet she has grace.”

Kitto's eyes tear up. I have hurt another woman today with my bluntness. I seem to excel at this. I remember I made my old friend, Joan, cry once. I felt some guilt, but not as much as I did when I hurt Seven.

I am not a good man. I never said I was. That’s why I would never make a good leader of the camp.

But today, I curse myself and my nature, because I hurt Seven more than I could have ever imagined.

The servant girl sobs quietly. She covers her face and remains standing there. I’m not sure if she seeks my comfort, but I’m unable to offer it to her.

My fingers keep twirling the knife, my eyes drifting to the window in search of Seven. If she doesn’t report herself soon, I will have to go after her.

Kitto gives up and rushes away to her bedroom. I take that as my cue to hunt Seven.

I make my way outside and find her petting my beast. He’s usually rowdy around strangers, but he’s tame for her.

“We need to talk,” I declare.

She nods, sniffling, and entwines her fingers. “I’m sorry for striking you. I lost my temper.”

She grabs her skirt and approaches me, keeping her head low. “Where do you want to do it?” She whispers. “On the porch?”

“Do…what?” I reply. Getting distracted by our height difference. She is so small. And her shame seems to make her even smaller.

My arms ache with the unfamiliar, baffling desire to protect her.

“Where do you want to spank me?”

I stumble backward. Spank her? Is this how she thinks I’ll punish her to get even?

I open my mouth to dismiss the outlandish idea. But then she peeks from beneath her lashes, and I change my mind.

“Yes,” I reply, clearing my throat. “Go to the porch.”

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