CATRIN

My newest customer is a demon.

Either he’s a new customer, or I’m dead. Dead would work.

Of course, everything wouldn’t hurt so badly if I was dead. That must mean I’m still alive. That must mean I’m this guy’s whore for a night or however long he’s bought me. The lights in this room are bright, which tells me I’m out of Haal Ui station. And he spoke English to me, which tells me that I’m not his first human “companion.” Okay, so I’m dealing with a fetishist. It won’t make me feel guilty to hurt him, then, because fuck him for buying a human to stick his dick into.

I pretend to be unconscious for a little longer, just to see how the demon reacts. He’s busy cutting my clothes away from me, but I don’t care about those. They’re nasty and caked with blood and refuse anyhow. Clothing his slaves isn’t a high priority for Yekkl, since we’ll be taking them off again anyhow. I bite back a yelp of pain when one bit of fabric sticks to a fresh wound and agony sears up my side, but my new customer notices it anyhow.

“Sorry about that. Gotta get all of this garbage out of that wound before I seal it up.”

Seal it up? Interesting. Maybe he’s got a cleanliness fetish, too. Wouldn’t be the worst I’ve had, considering. I’d love to be clean. And since he knows I’m awake, I open my eyes a crack and watch him through my lashes.

The demon-alien is fearsome looking. I’ve seen all kinds of mind-boggling aliens in the last few months, ever since I’ve been captured. This one is more humanoid than some, but in a dark, dangerous sort of way. His skin is a deep blue, his eyes pupilless and pale yellow. Massive horns arch back over his head like an antelope and are covered in shiny metal. When he smiles at me, he’s got fangs. His face is a little messed up with scars and his features look like they don’t completely line up, like something was repaired once and badly.

One arm moves over me and I see tattoos covering his skin. He’s wearing a sleeveless top of some kind and it makes me realize just how muscled those bare arms are, and how big he is compared to me. Hell, his lower arm is probably as big around as my thigh. This guy’s built like nothing I’ve ever seen before, and that’s the scariest part. Some of the aliens I’ve run into, I thought I stood a chance because we were of a similar height or weight. I’d fight, hoping that desperation would make up for malnourishment and abuse, but it never did.

I shouldn’t fight this guy, though. He’ll snap me like a twig.

Doesn’t mean I won’t, of course. Fighting’s what I do. I’ll never stop fighting, because if I do, then I’m dead—both inside and out.

So as he runs a scanner-type object over my body, I carefully look around for something to use as a weapon.

This place is a mess, I have to say. There’s junk piled on every available counter-space, and some of it looks like it’s covered in motor oil. He pushes aside a tool of some kind as he pulls something else out of a box, and I see a giant needle filled with a bright liquid. Oh, fuck me. I hate needles.

I must make a sound of fear, because his gaze immediately flicks back to me. “This is going to hurt,” he cautions. “It’s going to sting and burn at the injection site, but then you’ll feel a bit better. It’s a cocktail of stimulants and vitamins because I’m showing you’re deficient in several areas, and it should help your sluggish kthfsions. I don’t know the word in your language, sorry.” He gives me a crooked grin. “Let’s just say it’s important. You need your strength.”

I want to ask just what I need my strength for, but I learned a while back to stop asking, because I’d never like the answers. No one ever wants a slave strong for anything good. They only want a slave that can endure. I remain quiet and close my eyes when the needle gets closer. It presses against my bad side—where the asshole kicked me three days ago until I passed out—and I can feel my body break out in a cold sweat. Fuck, that hurts. Fuck, I hate needles.

“I know,” the demon murmurs, and his voice sounds sympathetic. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t buy it. If I believed everything one of my captors told me…I open my eyes when the burning stops, because he’s right. There’s something pouring through my veins that feels a little tingly and cold, but in a good way. Refreshing, even.

Well, if he was dumb enough to shoot me with something that gives a burst of energy, I’m going to take it and use it. I watch as he sets the gigantic (now empty) needle down on the table and then digs through another box for something else. “I’ve got something over here that’ll bind that wound of yours on your cheek without leaving much of a scar. Just gotta find it.”

He turns his back to me and I quickly grab the needle gun and slide it under my arm, hiding it with my hand. It’s not a very big weapon compared to this guy, but if I jab it into the right spot, I think I can kill him. Aren’t people always dying in movies when they get stabbed in the neck with a needle? I clench it in my hand. Worth a shot.

When he turns around and leans over me again, I decide that it’s time. I clasp the needle-gun in my hand and stab it into his neck with all the force I have in my body.

Or at least, I try to.

He’s bigger than I anticipate despite things, and so I don’t quite reach his neck, just his shoulder. And it doesn’t actually sink in. It just bounces off of him with a bone-jarring thud that makes me wonder if he’s wearing armor underneath that space-age muscle-shirt.

At any rate, I fail. The needle goes flying across the cluttered floor and my arm reverberates with pain, so much so that I feel as if I’m going to black out again. “Fuck.”

The man stares at me, not moving. For a long moment, I think he’s going to murder me. Just reach across the bed and choke the life out of me.

Instead, he smiles again. “Did you just try to kill me? Kef, that’s cute.”

“Fuck you,” I tell him, frightened. I’m sure he’s going to retaliate. He’s just waiting for me to drop my guard. I try to push backward on the bed, to put space between us, but my body isn’t responding. My arm feels like it snapped just from the reverberations of trying to stab him, and I’ve got nothing left in the tank. If I have to get off this table and run away, it’ll be more of a crawl.

But I’ll do it if I have to.

His mouth purses and he tilts his head. “Fuck is a human word for mating? I think my language chip must be malfunctioning.” He puts a big finger into his ear and wiggles it as if he heard wrong.

“It’s an insult,” I spit at him. When he reaches for me with a gun-like blinking device, I shy backwards, raising my hands. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Ah. Fuck is like kef. Handy insult, that. If you really want to fight back at a mesakkah with words, use ‘kef.’ I promise you’ll get a better response.” He reaches out and grabs my flailing wrists in a humiliatingly easy move, and then I’m pinned down to the table. “Stop moving or you’re going to get gel all over the table.”

“Gel so you can stick your monster cock inside me?” I thrash against his grip, but it’s useless.

He grins. I think it’s supposed to be terrifying, but it just pisses me off. “Gel so your wounds can heal their infections. I swear you’ve got dirt ground into them. And thank you for the compliment. I’ve had no complaints about my cock in the past, but it’s nice to hear it reaffirmed. Face yes, cock no.”

I scowl at him and jerk my arms again.

“Stop doing that or I’ll have to use restraints. I’m serious.” He holds up the medical-looking gun. “This shit’s expensive and I’m already tapped out from buying you.”

“Poor baby,” I snarl at him, but I don’t move. Once someone mentions “restraints” it’s all over. The last thing I want is to be chained up again, because then there’s no chance of escape at all.

He leans over me and I have to bite back a wave of fear, because he’s so massive. But all he does is pinch the swollen sides of my cheek together and runs a bead of gel down the wound. His brows look too hard for him to frown, but the tip of a blue tongue sticks out between his teeth as he works, as if he’s trying very hard to be delicate. “There,” he says after a moment. “We should keep your face nice and pretty.”

I just scowl at him, because I’m not sure what else to do. He’s being nice, but nice can also be a trap. Nice is the bait to let down my guard.

“Your ribs are cracked and you’ve got some bad internal bruising, but there’s nothing that some painkillers won’t fix and some rest. And this.” He glances around and then snorts. “Well, okay, I was going to show you some synth-bandages, but I can’t seem to find them.”

“That’s because you’re a slob,” I tell him. Now that he’s released my hands, I can touch the sore spot on the left side of my body. He’s not wrong, it feels swollen and hot when I skate my fingertips over it, and I wince inwardly. It’s been hurting for days to the point that I’ve been afraid to touch it, because I can’t do anything about it.

“You’re not wrong,” he says cheerfully, and begins to poke through the clutter on one of the counters. “Aha,” he says, and grabs a battery-sized blue bundle. “Here we go. Can you sit up?”

“Why?”

“So I can wrap this around your ribs.” He shakes the small cylinder at me. “I mean, I can do it while you’re lying down, but it’ll be awkward for both of us that way.”

I imagine him leaning in and pressing his big face against my boobs as he wraps my ribs—if that’s actually what he’s going to do—and mentally shudder. No, thank you. “I can sit up.”

He waits as I struggle to sit upright. He doesn’t offer an arm, which I appreciate, because I wouldn’t take it anyhow. Getting myself into a seated position from lying down is rough. My body screams a painful protest and I suck in a breath from the pain, but I eventually manage to hunch somewhat upright. It’s then that I remember that I’m naked. He cut all my clothes off of me, and I brace myself as he moves closer to my side.

“These bandages are waterproof and have numbing agents that are absorbed through the skin,” he tells me as he begins to peel the “battery” apart. “After this, you can shower and we’ll get you some fresh clothes. Sound good?”

Again, I wonder why he’s being nice to me. I try to shrug, but it hurts too much.

“Leaning in now,” the big ugly devil tells me, and I appreciate the warning in advance. His face moves close to mine as he puts his arms around my waist and then presses the edge of the bandage carefully against my skin. I bite back a whimper, and then there’s a cooling numbness that feels so good that I relax a bit. He’s all business as he winds the bandage around my ribs, and quiet. After a few loops around my torso, he finally speaks. “You’re a fighter, aren’t you? That how you got so torn up?”

“Maybe.” I don’t like giving information. It can be used against you.

“Good,” he says, and I’m surprised. I look into his face, but he’s not looking at me, just at the bandages. My breasts are already covered by the first two loops of them, so I know he’s not ogling my tits. “You keep fighting all the time,” he tells me. “Never let anyone think they own you or you’ll start to think it, too.”

Again, I don’t understand why he’s being so nice to me. Fear prickles up my spine, because I keep waiting for the trap. For the other shoe to drop. “What about you?” I can’t help but ask.

He shrugs, those massive shoulders moving in a fluid, graceful sort of way. He finishes wrapping the bandages and then turns around to pick up something else and I realize he’s got a tail. Wow, that’s weird. It flicks back and forth, just like a cat’s, the movements calm and easy. “I’m a fighter, but I don’t have the heart for it like some. It’s just a handy tool—”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” I interrupt.

The big alien turns and looks at me again, his eyes curious. He’s less scary the longer I look at him, which is good. “What did you mean, then?”

“You said don’t let anyone own me. What about you?”

“Oh. That.” He scratches at his head. It’s completely bald, the occasional pale scar marring the blue of his skin. “Yeah, I bought you, but not for keeps.”

“How many nights, then?” It won’t be so bad to be owned by this guy for a while, I guess. Beats having to do my nights in the tunnels. Those are the worst, when it feels like my soul is withering inside my body minute by minute by what I have to do.

He just scratches his head, like I’ve asked something weird that he doesn’t know how to answer. “It’s not like that,” he says after a moment. “I bought you from him. You’re not going back.”

A knot forms in my throat. Surely he’s not telling the truth? I’ve lived in that hell for so many months that I can’t believe it’s over, just like that. “You’re lying,” I manage.

“I’m not. I cleaned out the ship to buy you. Couldn’t leave you there.”

“So you’re my new owner,” I finally manage. I can live with that, I think. It doesn’t matter if he’s cruel or kind, as long as he’s predictable. The worst is not knowing what to expect the next day.

His face darkens at the base of his horns, and he rubs his jaw with one big tattooed hand. “Actually, no. I didn’t buy you because I need a bed slave. You belong to you.”