“Fine. But I still say he’s dangerous.”
“I can manage him,” Trin snapped, losing her patience. “And if you’re so worried, you can keep your distance. I’ll tend to him myself.”
Sidna’s lips got even thinner.
“As you wish, Captain.” Turning on her heel, she left Trin to look down at the huge slave and wonder what the hell she’d gotten herself into.
Chapter Three
“You, boy, up on your feet. Let me see what my credit has bought.”
Thrace rises on unsteady legs but he isn’t fast enough. A big hand snakes out and slaps him hard across the face. He reels backward, off balance because his arms are bound behind his back. Before he can fall, armed guards catch him and thrust him upright, their loud, trollish laughter ringing in his ears.
“Stand before the Master, boy!” one growls. “And enjoy it while you can. You’ll be kneeling before him soon enough.”
I am Havoc, Thrace reminds himself. I fear no male. I have honor and strength within. Such are the words that his Sire has taught him—the lessons he tried to instill every day. But he isn’t there to teach Thrace anymore. He’s gone…dead…. He was killed while trying to keep Thrace from being sold to the male who stands before him now, the one who calls himself Master.
Father, Thrace thinks, trying not to remember, trying not to see it all again. The shouting and the way his Sire had struggled when the male from Gemma won his auction—won Thrace as his slave.
“No—you shall not have him! Not my son!” he had shouted, kicking and struggling against the security Crangs as they attempted to lead him away. And then the man who had bought Thrace stepped forward with a weapon on his hand. He had pointed it at the center of his Sire’s broad chest and…and…
Don’t think of it! Thrace orders himself but he can’t help it. Can’t help seeing the bloody, gaping hole that opened in his Sire’s chest…the shocked look on his face as he stumbled to his knees…the callous way the man who is called Master threw a sack of clinking gold credit-coins at the slaver.
“For your trouble. I can’t stand mouthy slaves.”
The slavers had been more than happy with their compensation. Thrace’s Sire had been dragged away, leaving a bloody trail behind his limp corpse and Thrace, still shocked and horrified, had been led in the opposite direction. A day and a night in a dark cargo hold had followed and now he was standing before the male who had killed his Sire and bought his contract. The male who now owned him body and soul.
Father, he thinks again, his throat tight. What is to become of me?
He will not weep—it is weak and weakness is not the Havoc way. But he can’t help the way his eyes burn when he remembered his Sire, the only parent he had ever known.
“Promising…very promising,” the Master says, appraising Thrace with small, greedy eyes. “Though you haven’t got your full growth yet, have you my boy?”
Thrace looks down at himself. Havoc males don’t reach full physical maturity until their eighteenth cycle and he is barely sixteen cycles old. He is a good height but not nearly as tall as his Sire—not yet—and his arms and legs are slender and undeveloped. He is strong for his size but not strong enough to break the chains that hold him.
Not that strength and size did his Sire any good. He was killed despite his size…or maybe because of it. Doubtless the Master didn’t think he could handle a full grown Havoc although apparently an adolescent one isn’t beyond him. So he thinks.
“A beautiful boy, just the same,” the Master says, nodding. “Those eyes especially—lovely. And that tight little ass…” He has the guards turn Thrace in a circle so that he can be admired from all angles.
It makes Thrace feel sick to be so displayed and he doesn’t like the hungry look in those small, greedy eyes. It is as though he is a prime cut of meat the Master wants for his dinner. But he refuses to let his fear show. He glares back, never dropping his gaze when the Master looks at him, taking the measure of the male who killed his Sire.
The Master is a medium sized male with thinning gray hair and rings on every finger. His rich robes of purple halla-cloth cannot hide his paunch but they do proclaim him one of the royal elite of Gemma, not that Thrace cares about that. He only wants to kill the male who killed his Sire. But in order to do that, he must first get free.
“Very nice,” the Master says, nodding again. “And look at that lush mouth. I think we should look into training those sweet lips first. What do you say, eh boy?”
Thrace glares at him. “I say anything you put in my mouth, I’m going to bite off, Master,” he growls.
But his threat only makes the Master laugh.
“A feisty one! I like it. It will make breaking you that much more amusing.” He gestures to the guards. “Now leave us. I want some time alone with my new slave.”
“No!” Thrace tries to move away from the seeking fingers of his new master but he is trapped, unable to move, unable to get away. If only his arms were free…if only he could get his hands around the Master’s throat…
* * * * *
“Whoa—take it easy, big fella!” Trin leaned over the thrashing slave. He was moaning and growling, making deep, hoarse sounds that reminded her of vids she’d watched about the Earth predators called lions. The deep bass rumble coming from his vast chest was like the beginnings of a roar. It was unnerving but it also plainly signaled some kind of distress.
Trin wouldn’t have left one of her horses if it was in pain and she wouldn’t leave the Havoc either. She had bought him and she was responsible for him—it was that simple.
“Take it easy,” she murmured again, bending over him to press a wet towel to his sweating forehead.
Suddenly the Havoc’s eyes popped open, showing that extraordinary silver-blue color she’d found so arresting before.
“Hey,” Trin said, frowning. “You’re awa—”
Before she could get the word out, one muscular arm shot out and long fingers closed around her throat.
Trin gasped through her suddenly narrowed airway and beat against his broad chest.
“Stop—let go!” she choked out, barely able to get the breath to talk. “Let go!”
The slave’s eyes narrowed and he squeezed harder. He seemed to be mouthing something at her, some word she couldn’t understand. Was it…Master?
Trin tried to tell him to let her go again but she couldn’t get any air. Bright specks of light were beginning to dance before her eyes and she realized she was beginning to lose consciousness. She had to do something quickly or she wouldn’t have to worry about what happened in the Demon’s Eye—she’d be dead long before she got there.
Desperately, she fumbled at her belt but there was nothing there. Dimly she remembered handing the stunner to Sidna to prove she was protected. But had the medic ever given her weapon back? Trin didn’t think so. They’d had their fight and then Sidna had stalked off, presumably taking the stunner with her.