Page 9 of The Monster I Am

Rhys stared at him, not comprehending at first. “He…” He glanced in Dominic’s direction, but the witch wasn’t paying attention to him. Fuck. Fuck, this meant he’d owe Dominic a favor, and that could go poorly. It could be a test, too. Fuck!

But he wanted it.

He wanted the slave.

“What’s its name?” he asked.

“That one’s Jared,” the slaver said, glancing to the side where someone else was coming up to select one of the slaves. “‘Scuse me.”

How was he going to appropriately thank Dominic for this?

Well, that was a problem for later. Right now? His eyes narrowed as he caught Alastair getting a little too close to his new… property, and he strode back across the room.

“You’ll have to pick a different slave,” he told Alastair as he got close. “This one’s mine now.” He stroked the slave’s — Jared’s — arm, wondering if the human would understand enough or if he was still too blissed out.

Alastair scowled, clearly displeased at the turn of events. “Right,” he said in a clipped tone, turning away to head toward Russell.

Jared had no idea how lucky he’d just been.

Though Rhys hadn’t seen Alastair in action, he knew as much, deep in his bones. It would be rude to simply take his property and leave before thanking Dominic, but his host was engaged in conversation with someone else. Rude to interrupt, too, and ruder still to continue to occupy the frame when he’d finished using it.

To the sitting area, then, where he’d have to try to figure out how he was going to explain this to his handlers.

“Can you understand me, Jared?” he inquired softly of the slave, trailing fingers that he only just then realized were still coated with the human’s cum across his lips.

Jared lifted his head, then nodded shakily.

“Good.” Rhys crouched down to unfasten Jared’s ankles from the frame, then straightened up again so he could free his wrists from the cuffs. His shirt was going to get bloody, his artwork smudged further, but it couldn’t be helped. The slave wouldn’t be able to stand on his own, not after that. Not yet.

He murmured a spell beneath his breath, enhancing his strength so he’d be able to take proper hold of Jared and keep him upright, then helped him step free of the frame.

“We’re going to walk over there.” Rhys gestured in the direction of the sitting area. “You’ll kneel beside me. When you’ve recovered, we will take our leave.” He paused. “You belong to me now. We’ll go over rules when you’re… coherent.”

Rules.

Fuck.

Rules he was going to have to establish, to maintain, to enforce. He was going to have to rape this slave over and over, to drive his body to new heights of pleasure and bring him low, and his cock threatened to pulse at the thought of having this masochist at his mercy.

Jared slumped as he was released from the chains, but managed to stay on his feet with Rhys’s hold on his arm. He nodded, licking his lips but not voicing anything.

The slave was new to all of this, and Rhys was going to have to give him a crash course in how to survive long-term. He’d done well as one of Russell’s lot, but if Rhys was too gentle with him, Jared might learn bad habits, habits that would get them both killed.

What had he been thinking? What had Dominic been thinking? Did he have sympathies? No, that was preposterous, and he dismissed that outright. It was far more likely that Dominic simply appreciated beauty — and with how he treated Onyx Rayne, that was possible. But if he disliked the waste, that was something. Wasn’t it?

They would never be able to trust Dominic, but it was useful information to have. Could they use him?

No.

But it would’ve been nice.

Rhys crossed the room, and because he was apparently a masochist himself, he sat so he could watch the rest of the room at large. He guided Jared to kneel at his feet, urging him to rest his head against his thigh. “Close your eyes,” he murmured.

He forced himself to watch what was happening, coming back to earth as he slid out of his own pleasured state, and endured the sight of so many humans being brought low with pain and misery.

They would not all survive the night.

His eyes went to Alastair, who seemed to have picked out his own slave, and a chill ran down his spine. But like someone witnessing a train wreck — or someone with the need to bear witness to an atrocity — he couldn’t look away.