Lover Awakened (Black Dagger Brotherhood #3)(13)

As he lay down, he put his head next to the thing and the past came back, the year 1802….



The slave came partially awake. He was flat on his back and he ached all over, though he couldn’t think of why…until he remembered going into his transition the night before. For hours he’d been crippled by the pain of his muscles sprouting, his bones thickening, his body transforming into something huge.

Strange…verily, his neck and his wrists hurt in a differing way.

He opened his eyes. The ceiling was far above him and marked with thin black bars inset into stone. When he turned his head, he saw an oak door with more bars running vertically down its thick planks. On the wall, too, there were strips of steel…In the dungeon. He was in the dungeon, but why? And he’d best get to his duties before…

He tried to sit up, but his forearms and shins were pinned down. Eyes going wide, he jerked—

“Mind y’self!” It was the blacksmith. And he was tattooing black bands on the slave’s drinking points.

Oh, dear Virgin in the Fade, no. Not this…

The slave fought against the holds, and the other male looked up, annoyed. “Settle! I’ll not be whipped for a fault that’d be not mine own.”

“I beg of you…” The slave’s voice didn’t sound right. It was too deep. “Have mercy.”

He heard a soft, female laugh. The Mistress of the household had entered the cell, her long gown of white silk trailing behind her on the stone floor, her blond hair down around her shoulders.

The slave dropped his eyes as was appropriate and realized he was wholly unclothed. Flushing, embarrassed, he wished he were covered.

“You wake,” she said, approaching him.

He couldn’t fathom why she had come to see one of such lowly station as himself. He was a mere kitchen boy, someone beneath even the maids who cleaned her privy quarters.

“Look at me,” the Mistress commanded.

He did as he was told, though it went against everything he’d ever known. He had never been allowed to meet her stare before.

What he saw in it was a shock. She was looking at him in a way no female had ever regarded him. Greed marked the refined bones of her face, her dark gaze glowing with some kind of intent he couldn’t discern.

“Yellow eyes,” she murmured. “How rare. How beautiful.”

Her hand landed on the slave’s bare thigh. He twitched at the contact, feeling uneasy. This was wrong, he thought. She shouldn’t be touching him there.

“What a magnificent surprise you’ve presented. Rest assured, I have fed well the one who brought you to my attention.”

“Mistress…I would beg you to let me go to work.”

“Oh, you will.” Her hand drifted across the juncture of his pelvis, where his thighs met his hips. He jumped and heard the blacksmith’s soft curse. “And what a boon for me. My blood slave fell prey to an unfortunate accident this day. As soon as his quarters are renewed, you shall be moved into them.”

The slave lost his breath. He’d known of the male she’d kept locked up, for he’d brought food to the cell. Sometimes, as he’d left the tray with the guards, he’d heard strange sounds coming out from behind the heavy door….

His fear must have registered on the Mistress, because she leaned over him, getting close enough so he could smell her perfumed skin. She laughed softly, as if she had taken a taste of his fright and the dish had pleased her.

“In truth, I cannot wait to have you.” As she turned to leave, she glared at the blacksmith. “Mind what I said or I shall have you sent unto the dawn. Not one misstep with that needle. His skin is far too perfect to mar.”

The tattooing was finished soon thereafter, and the blacksmith took the one candle with him, leaving the slave tied down on the table in the darkness.

He shook from despair and horror as his new station became real. He was now the lowest of the low, kept alive solely to feed another…and only the Virgin knew what else awaited him.

It was a long while before the door opened again and candlelight showed him that his future had arrived: the Mistress in a black robe with two males known for their love of their own sex.

“Cleanse him for me,” she ordered.

The Mistress watched as the slave was washed and oiled, and she moved around his body as the candlelight did, ever shifting, never still. The slave trembled, hating the sensation of the males’ hands on his face, his chest, his privates. He was fearful that one or both would try to take him in an un-holy way.

When they were finished, the taller of them said, “Shall we attempt him for you, Mistress?”

“I shall keep him for myself this night.”

She dropped her robe and lithely got up onto the table, straddling the slave. Her hands sought his private flesh, and as she stroked him he was aware of the other males taking themselves in hand. When the slave remained flaccid, she covered him with her lips. The sounds in the room were horrific, the moans of the males and the Mistress’s mouth sucking and smacking.

The humiliation was complete as the slave started to cry, tears seeping out of the corners of his eyes, falling down his temples, landing in his ears. He had never been touched between his legs before. As a pretransition male, his body had not been ready for or capable of mating, though that hadn’t kept him from looking forward to someday being with a female. He’d always imagined that the joining would be wondrous, for in the slave quarters he had seen the pleasure act on occasion.