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Wolf Slave 28 – Alex Ankarr
And now he’s for it: Ree has jerked back, too, almost instantaneously, grabbed a hold of him by both arms, and is looking full into his face with wild, wild eyes. And wild eyes on a werewolf are pretty damned wild: there’s a glint in Ree’s, that tell Penn he’s at real risk now, and must tread with the utmost care. ‘I’m sorry, my lord,’ he begins. ‘I apologise most deeply.’ And he’d do well to end right there: but Penn has always been pretty close to a fool on certain subjects. He lifts his eyes: just glancingly. ‘But why, my lord, why would you…’ And he peters out: but his meaning is clear enough.
Ree throws him away from himself, and stalks to the other side of the hall: and rants as he does it. Penn accounts himself fairly lucky to be ranted at: rather than, say, torn limb from limb. ‘I’ll do as I please. In my own household, Penn, my own household, I think I have a right to dispose of my… of members of staff as I see fit.’ He’s not even looking at Penn: has leaned to look out the window, is clutching at the internal railing that circles the cabin. It squeaks, almost buckles under the strain. ‘Of course, it is not my business if you choose to…’ The pause is long, and Ree seems to collect himself, to come to and wake up a little.
Then he swivels around, and lopes back to Penn, and takes a hold of his forearm once more. It’s not a savage grip: only hard and steady, and his look is intent, his mouth a very thin line. ‘No. Scratch that: it is entirely my business. You are property, Penn, as is she. I will dispose of the pair of you as I see fit, I will: only think yourself lucky I do not bar you from her company and sell her to the local whore-house while I’m at it. Enjoy her while you can: it’ll be brief enough.’
Penn’s limbs tremble under the force of Ree’s grip, and it’s not from fear. It should be, but it isn’t. This is his problem, right here: he hasn’t the self-preservation to keep his anger and rebellion tamped down, or only just barely. Never has had: it’s a wonder he’s survived this long. Now, he should be quaking under Ree’s hands, aware of their deadly potential. But no, instead he’s quaking with fury. And what he longs, absolutely longs to do, is to lift his eyes and stare right into his master’s face. And to strike him.
And if he has such a deathwish, he might as well take the sharpest knife from the kitchen here, and drive it straight into his heart forthwith, to make of the job a quicker one.
© Copyright Alex Ankarr 2013 All rights reserved to the author. No inspirations for characters drawn from real-life individuals, no resemblance to real individuals intended.