Page 3 of The Monster I Am

A masochist.

It had been a long time since Rhys had played with one of those, someone whose blood sang so sweetly when he inflicted pain upon them. He hadn’t expected to find one among the slaves at a party like this, and he hadn’t expected for Dominic to point one out to him either.

Was Dominic… suspicious? Did he think that something was off about Rhys? Did he seem like the type who did care whether the slave he used enjoyed himself?

But no. Any supe there would enjoy putting a masochist through his paces, seeing just how far they could take him before the screams of pleasure turned into those of agony. Rhys was not known for being light on the slaves he chose. There was no reason to think that the Bancroft witch had pegged him for being anything other than what he appeared to be: a staunch supporter of the status quo.

Alastair’s eyes glittered with amusement. “Ha! I’m sorry to have missed that. Which one is he?”

“One of the blonds, I believe. I’m not sure which,” Dominic said carelessly. “Do let someone else showcase him before you start cutting him up, Alastair.”

“I’d love to experience a masochist properly,” Rhys said. “I don’t mean to be rude, Dominic, but would you mind excusing me so I can inspect such a gem myself? I’ll give you every bit the show you expect from me, and I’m sure you’re correct. Such a creature won’t last long.”

No, Russell would hand over a masochist to some ham-fisted asshole who wanted to go straight to the very depths of agony without properly working over a slave first. Rhys, on the other hand… He would enjoy playing with a slave who could find pleasure in pain very much.

Potentially too much.

“I’ll come with you,” Alastair announced. “I haven’t had a chance to look them over properly yet.”

“Please do,” Rhys said, even though he’d rather get away from Alastair.

Dominic made a “go on” gesture. “I look forward to the show.”

Rhys bowed his head to Dominic and excused himself, striding over to where Russell stood with his slaves. “Good evening, friend.” He grinned at the slaver. “I hear you have a treasure with you tonight. Which one is he?”

“I do, I do!” the slaver said with pleasure. “He gave us a show before, and I’m expecting another one tonight. He’s that one there.”

Rhys’s gaze turned to the slave in question, and he inspected him with a critical eye. Early twenties, blond-haired, slender but not quite as emaciated as other slaves that had briefly come into his possession… he was a lovely sight.

“Up,” he ordered, his tone that of someone used to being obeyed — and obeyed quickly. He was a representative of the Council, after all, which was one of the many reasons he’d ended up on the guest list to one of these parties to begin with.

So fucking help him.

The human scrambled quickly to his feet, but then stayed frozen in the same place, eyes fixed on the ground in front of his feet.

“Come here!” Russell’s sharp order had the slave’s breath hitching.

The slave obeyed, getting out of line and to Russell’s side, head down and hands hanging at his sides.

Rhys watched as the slave moved, lacking the agility that more experienced pets might’ve exuded. Of course, none of Russell’s slaves would ever live long enough to acquire that grace. They would be used and abused for a few weeks, then discarded with no regards to their lives being cut short.

Even the monster beneath his skin didn’t like the waste.

The young human came closer, and Rhys paced around him in a circle, taking in every aspect of his body. A bit too thin, upon standing, but his face was beautiful. No wonder he’d been taken by someone. Poor soul, for that to end up being Russell.

It truly would be a waste for a beautiful masochist to be used up and left for dead.

Assuming, of course, that the claims were true.

“Well, let's have a look at him,” Alastair said, and while the slave raised his head, his eyes still stayed downcast so that he wasn’t looking up at any of them while they regarded his face.

“Pretty, isn’t he?” Russell said.

“Beautiful. Now…” Rhys turned his attention fully to the trembling slave. “Tell me what happened at the last party.” He reached out to touch the young man’s chin and forced his head up. “Yes, you.”

He regarded the slave with faint curiosity when he, albeit briefly, met his eyes. Bold, stupid, or simply inexperienced; any of those things could be true. Rhys didn’t comment on it, simply waiting for his order to be obeyed.

“I—” The slave’s voice cracked and he swallowed, licking his lips. “I— I was being used— and I⁠—”