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“Yes, Master.” I forced my quaking voice to form words.
“You learn quickly. Second rule: Whenever you enter my presence, you kneel until I command you to stand.”
“Yes, Master.”
The same strand of hair that had knocked me off my feet landed on my shoulder. I didn’t wait for his prompting. I went down on my knees and this time avoided getting hit.
Hyto stood and moved forward. I could feel the shift in his mood.
Trained to keep my eyes on my opponents, it took everything I had to force my gaze to the floor. I’d met men like Hyto before—men who thrived on total power, total ownership. It was like staring a mad dog in the face—they’d kill for such affronts. I’d play the game, buy myself some time.
As little hope as I had for getting out of this in one piece, the more someone tried to humiliate me, the more I wanted revenge. And if Hyto took me out, I planned on doing as much damage as I could to him before the end. But I’d have to bite my tongue . . . wait for the right moment.
As his boots—white fur beneath the robe he wore—appeared in my line of sight, I struggled to keep myself calm. Or at least as calm as I could manage.
Tendrils of hair reached beneath my arms and lifted me off my feet so that they were holding me in front of him.
“Look at me, girl. Properly.” The command was slow, sinuous.
“Yes, Master.” I forced myself to meet his gaze without challenging him. I didn’t want to see what I knew was there.
Desire. Lust. The will to hurt, to punish. The hunger for my pain. Oh yes, he was a sadist, just waiting to unleash himself on me.
“First, the collar.”
And while his hair held me, he reached out and fastened a snow-white collar around my neck, with a silver loop in the front. When he snapped the buckle shut, I shuddered and realized that the collar had magic in it—what sort, I could not tell, but the energy flowed around my body and made me feel like I had an itch I couldn’t scratch.
“Who am I, girl?”
“You are my Master.” The words turned in my stomach, but there was nothing to do now but obey.
“That’s right, and I can do anything I want with you. I could break your neck, or fry you up and eat you for breakfast. I could hang you over the cliff and watch you dangle there, freezing to death, left for the mountain vultures to pick clean.”
“Yes, Master.”
He chuckled, looking all too delighted. “Or . . . I could . . .”
The next moment, I felt another tendril of his hair curl up my body till it found my breasts. It coiled like a serpent, twisting around me like some rope out of a Japanese bondage scene. The pressure on my breasts was so tight I began to sweat, but then it eased off as the strands began to massage my nipples. I relaxed, grateful that the pain had stopped, when another strand—thicker this time—reached between my legs, caressing my thighs, caressing me between . . .
Oh fuck. No, please no. I closed my eyes, but the strands thrust my thighs apart and began to explore every crevice I had.
Hyto growled. “Look at me, I said. I want to see your face. I want to see your eyes.”
“Yes, Master.” Whispering, I opened my eyes again. He was grinning, feral and wild, dangerous as only a mad dragon could be.
“Oh, my pretty one. My son’s wife. What a joke. You’re not fit to be an entrée—you’re dessert, you know that? Simply dessert. Whipped cream. Except that because you hold my son’s heart, you are a crown jewel to me right now. My ace up the sleeve, so to speak. And that excites me.”
And with another horrible laugh, he swiftly thrust a thick strand of hair into me, shoving the flimsy material of the thong aside. I struggled, but he held me tight with that horrible snakelike mane of his.
I let out a single scream, then bit my tongue as he suddenly pulled me to him, more of his hair holding my face to his as his mouth sought mine. His tongue deep between my lips, he kissed me, but he did not touch me with his hands.
And then the ravishment began in earnest; those crazed eyes pierced my heart as he toyed with me, never touching me with his hands, only with his hair. How much time passed, I couldn’t tell, but I was raw and bleeding by the time he was done.
When he was finished, the strands abruptly withdrew, dropping me on the floor. I lay there, whimpering.
“Enough for now. I cannot have you expiring on me before Smoky finds his way here. We have plenty of time for more fun later on. I’ve business to address. The woman will attend to you. You will bathe and eat and sleep. I won’t have a filthy toy in my presence. It’s bad enough you are mortal.”
As he paused, I realized he was waiting for my response. Fury and pain racking my body, I forced myself to my knees. Unsteady but managing to keep upright, I threw caution out the window and stared up at him, refusing to look away. I wanted to memorize his face, to memorize every crag and wrinkle, every scar. Because somehow, someday, I would watch him die—in pain, in anger, in absolute agony.
