Page 10 of The Monster I Am

Alastair was dragging a dark-haired slave toward the bondage frame that Rhys and Jared had just vacated. When he got there, he forced the slave to his knees before adjusting the chains to manacle the slave’s arms torturously wide, wide enough that the strain on the slave’s shoulders was visible and his fingertips were nearly brushing the sides of the frame.

He pulled a small knife sheath out of his pocket, and unsheathed the short but wicked-looking blade. Grabbing the slave’s hair, Alastair forced the slave’s head back and brought the knife up toward the slave’s face.

The slave’s scream pierced through the air, a shriek of pure agony.

Rhys sat up straighter. He couldn’t tell what had been done to the slave, but the cut had to have been deep to elicit that kind of response. Too much, too fast for Rhys’s tastes, and unease lanced through him. He’d chosen to watch, but even the monster beneath his skin was uncertain about the wisdom of that decision.

His eyes flicked to the side, and he tracked the partygoers and their responses to the scream. Most of them had abandoned their conversations to watch, and while a few looked anticipatory, that wasn’t the case across the board.

Most interestingly, and most importantly, Dominic Bancroft’s expression was impassive. The host stood next to his own slave, and Rhys saw him murmur something to him before the boy’s body lost some of its visible tension.

What had he said?

Or done, perhaps?

There were rumors that Dominic was going softer on the Rayne witch after the past few parties, though Rhys would never mention those to Dominic himself. He didn’t watch for long, not wanting to be caught at it. Instead, he forced himself to look back at Alastair right as another scream ripped through the air.

Jared shuddered, turning his face toward Rhys’s leg and pressing against him.

When Alastair stepped back to admire his handiwork, Rhys could see where two deep cuts had been made along the bottom sides of the slave’s jaw. The cuts were dark, the edges charred where they had been cauterized as they’d been cut. The slave was sobbing and jerking in the chains, but he was bound so tightly that there was nowhere for him to go.

The slave made a gargling sob and Rhys realized that the slave couldn’t close his mouth; the muscles that would allow him to do so had been cut through.

And Rhys thought he was a monster. Bile rose in the back of his throat, and he told Jared again, more sharply this time, “Keep your eyes closed.”

Alastair had resheathed the knife and was unfastening his pants.

Rhys had seen cruelty before. Hells, he had inflicted it. He’d cut Jared until the slave had screamed, too, and that hadn’t been the first time he’d done as much to a human. But there was something… different to him about that.

Or maybe he was delusional.

After all, he’d raped Jared while the human wore those cuts like a painting, and Rhys fully intended to do it again. Was that any less monstrous than this?

Yes.

It had to be.

He glanced to the side when someone stepped close to him, and he noted the fact that Dominic still looked distant, aloof, even as this torture took place.

Was this really any different from slaves being whipped bloody, their skin parting until muscle and even bone could be seen? Could Rhys truly judge Alastair for what he was doing?

“Cauterizing blade?” Rhys asked, his voice sounding surprisingly neutral. “You’d said he was also a knife aficionado.”

But not in the same way Rhys was. At all. There was no art in this.

Dominic hummed in agreement, taking another sip of his drink. His gaze didn’t leave the slave, or was it Alastair that he was watching? The other witch had resumed his position in front of the slave and was thrusting as the slave made choked noises between his sobs.

“Cauterizing, and enchanted to cut through bone as easily as skin,” Dominic said, his voice as neutral as Rhys’s.

“I see.” So this was going to get worse. Much worse. “I understand that I have you to thank for this gem,” Rhys said after a pause, tapping Jared’s head. “If you’d like to use him, you’re more than welcome to, of course.”

Dominic did not use the slaves he commissioned for these parties; nor did he use his own slave where anyone could see.

But it was only polite to make the offer.

Dominic made another sound of agreement. “It would be a pity to have such potential lost without a chance to shine,” he said, though his voice didn’t change in inflection as he continued to watch. “I am, on the whole, not in favor of wastefulness.”

Tragedy, Rhys thought, not wastefulness.