The Captain’s Slave part 2

SEVEN

I stare at my new slaver. At the owner of this land who has taken me from my original owner.

He’s cruel.

He has to be. Men with bodies like that—made for war and destruction, cannot possibly be kind. He’s too sculptured to be a protector. It would be a waste of design.

His body tells me a grueling warning: death is nearby.

I’m terrified of him, and I don’t even know his name or his story.

He clutches onto a sword, his hand scarred. The hide pants at his hips are secured by a utility belt heavy with daggers, pouches and a sheathe.

His vest leaves little to the imagination. It’s open in the center, allowing a view of his chest. His sleeves are short, revealing taunt biceps. His hair is rowdy and his expression fierce. He’s pissed off and ready to charge. For the first time in my life, I pity my slaver.

The man raises his weapon, spinning it to grab it by the sharp blade reflecting sunlight. He swings it, striking my slaver with the hilt and knocking him out.

Gusto drops unconscious at my feet—much like I had dreamed of many times before. Except that in those dreams, I was the one wielding a weapon. I never dreamed of getting saved.

This man is no savior, I remind myself.

He is my new slaver. Cruel just like the rest of them.

“Master,” I greet him, my voice empty. I lower my head and bend my knees in greeting. Ignoring a drooling, unconscious Gusto at my feet.

I show no reaction to the violence and remain docile like a good little slave. It’s how these bastards like it.

The male growls, startling me. I stumble, breaking my graceful bow. He’s angry, but why? He should be pleased that he has staked his claim and I’m not putting up a fight.

He’s unpredictable. I fear he will swing again and aim for my head this time.

“Don’t fucking call me that. I’m a master by nature, not by enslaving.”

He’s a master. A legendary warrior that becomes enraged through sex. A weapon in the flesh so powerful that he renders the sword in his bleeding fist useless.

What have I gotten myself into?

I stare at the blood dripping from his hand, unsure what to say. What does he want from me? I’m his now—that much can’t be denied. He has taken me from Gusto. I’m on his land, pinned by his deadly stare.

“Apologies,” I mutter.

“Show me what has become of my property.”

I nod and lift one sleeve before the other, showing him my arms as he requests. Then I reach for the hem of my ratty dress to show him my legs.

“Not you, girl!” He barks. Flesh squelching loudly as he grips his sword tighter. “The house!”

“Apologies,” I repeat again, fighting to keep my confusion from my face.

I walk around Gusto’s unconscious body. He snores so loudly it appears he’ll be unconscious for days. Much like when he has too much to drink. I love those days, dutifully filling his cup every hour. When he gets sloppy drunk is the only time I get a break from his insufferable self.

I walk up the steps, leading the warrior into his home. The decorations are lacking. We have no curtains, vases, or paintings, but the eight-room home is spotless. I did my best. It was the only task keeping me from insanity.

I grit my teeth when I hear the soft footsteps of a child.

Risssa peeks out of the corner, her red eyes wide as she takes in the male behind me. He’s so massive he makes the house feel much smaller and makes me wonder if it’s truly his when it can barely contain him.

“Who is the child?” He asks from behind me.

“A slave, sold by her parents.”

“How many more slaves?”

“There are seven of us, all adults except for Risssa. Would you like to meet them?”

“Are they chained?”

“Yes mas—sir. They are chained whenever they are not working, except for Risssa.”

He marches past me, his arm brushing past me gently. I throw myself against the wall to minimize skin contact and make a panicked gesture for Risssa to tuck herself into the corner.

“Come!” He barks at me, dripping blood all over the ratty carpet that took me all winter to sew.

It’s an ugly thing, but I was proud of it.

Get used to it, I tell myself. I have a feeling this man will uproot my entire life.

He walks past doors, inhaling deeply like a beast until identifying a scent and kicking down a door. He seems hellbent on destroying his own home, but I don’t know why.

Screams echo from the slave quarters. I hear metal strike metal but don’t dare to peek inside the room.

“Get out!” He roars. “I have no need for slaves. Go! You are free.”

What?

He’s letting them go? But some of us have servitude contracts for life. He could easily take us from Gusto and none of us would be strong enough to put a dent in him.

Everyone pools outside. I make eye contact with Five—the oldest female, and whisper Risssa’s name. She will know to take care of the child.

Five and the others pile outside with a few of their belongings as the strange savior designed for destruction glares behind them. Leering as if we’ve committed a travesty and dishonored his home.

Five grabs my forearm as he walks by, dragging me with her. Her fingers are frail from malnutrition but her grasp is determined.

“You’re coming with me,” she whispers.

“Not her. Not Seven.”

We both freeze. I look from Five’s fearful eyes and the raging male’s. He’s looking at me. Wrapping me in invisible chains. So fucking giant his head is a mere foot from the ceiling.

Who is this man too large for his own home?

I know instantly that I’m not going anywhere. Maybe because I know I don’t deserve it. Maybe because I don’t want to disobey him and ruin everyone’s opportunity to escape.

I pull away from Five. Whispering again, “Risssa.”

She makes a choked sound, hesitating before leaving me behind.

The panicked footsteps echo on the wood for a few more minutes as everyone grabs what they can. Rissa cries in the distance for me. And then the house falls more silent than ever.

“Come here.”

My feet refuse his command. I’m rooted by fear.

He sheathes his bloody sword and crosses his arms across his giant chest. He could smother me in his embrace.

I suddenly find myself missing Gusto. He was weaker. Easier to read.

This is another beast.

I slowly inch forward, breaking our stare. Bowing my head as instinct tells me to.

I must remain his center of attention so everyone has a chance to run far enough before he changes his mind.

“I don’t like your name,” he says. “I don’t like your ratty clothes or how you hang your head. Change everything.”

I nod, accepting my first order from my master.

“You are not mine. I will not keep you if you wish to follow the others.”

This shocks me. It’s too good to be true.

“But Gusto gave me to you.”

“I’m no slaver.”

So… why am I here? Why did he stop me?

“I need a maid.”

A maid? Please, such nonsense. Every man I’ve ever met has looked at me longingly. I’ve never seen pity. They wanted what Gusto had: a slave.

This male is no different he wants to keep me here under a different title. Under a pretense of freedom. But I’m no idiot. I can’t leave and risk him retaliating by recapturing my friends.

They’re old and malnourished. They won’t travel far by foot. This man might just stab them in the back. I don’t know what he’s capable of.

“It would be my honor,” I respond.

His shoulders fall, as if relieved.

“What will become of my previous master?”

“Draw me a cold bath as I chain him.”

Chain Gusto? He won’t like that. He’ll be feral. But I’ve got bigger concerns. He wants a bath.

Although I was lucky that Gusto had a preference for males and no sexy interest in me, he always made me scrub his disgusting body.

This master will want the same. I don’t want anything to do with his nude body. I don’t want him getting any ideas.

But I’m done questioning this man. I walk down the hallway to run the bath and find a sponge to bathe him.

It would be so much easier if he had Gusto’s soft, chubby figure. If he had Gusto’s preference for males. But this male is nothing like Gusto. He’s hardened everywhere. And I suspect the softest part of him—his cock—will not stay soft for long.

My hands tremble as I carry buckets of water from the tank and into the metal tub, noting that the tub will likely be too small for him. The water is cold—something Gusto would have a fit over. He preferred warm water infused with oils and petals. And he needed the water changed twice before he was satisfied. The bastard was fussy and greedy.

I run my hands through the cold water. Will it be cold enough to numb the master’s fleshy desires?

Hearing footsteps approaching, I figure that I will soon find out.

Next update: The Beast