Trin sniffed a tiny amount of the vapor and made a face. She curled towards Thrace’s broad chest, her hair falling over her face, shielding her from inhaling any more the vapor. But the huge Havoc was sleeping on his back. A faint frown creased his face as the oily, black tentacles caressed his cheek. He drew in a deep, startled breath and the vapor entered his mouth and nose eagerly, almost as if it had been waiting for just such an opportunity.
The nightmare began…
Chapter Twenty-one
Trin looked around herself, frowning. Where was she? There were rows of slaves, kneeling on display pillars and eager slaves walking around, crying their wares. Prospective buyers browsed the merchandise while the security Crangs watched from the sidelines. Recognition struck her—somehow she was back to the Flesh Bazaar, where she had first found Thrace.
Why am I back here? I found the one I wanted. The only one I’ll ever want. So why am I…?
The question died before she could answer it as something caught her attention. It was Thrace…at least she thought it was Thrace.
But something was different about him. He looked younger—much younger—only an adolescent.
Adolescent Thrace was tall and gangly and not nearly as muscular as the Thrace she knew. But his hair was the same inky blue-black and his eyes were the same startling silver-blue.
He was up on an auction block.
Trin had seen one or two of these private auctions. They were held for only the rarest and most desirable slaves and buyers had to pay a hefty fee to even join the auction in the first place. Several of them were bidding now, standing in front of the raised platform where the young Thrace was displayed, calling out prices, trying to win him as though he was a rare pet they wanted for their private zoo.
Once, Trin would have thought the same thing—that a male had no more feelings than a beast. But now her heart went out to the young Thrace. He stood proudly, his chin raised, his big hands curled into fists at his sides. He didn’t make a sound, even when the auctioneer, a Catara from the Dengba system, raised the scanty cloth he wore wrapped around his waist and displayed the size of his shaft.
“A tasty young mmmorsel, my lords and ladies,” the auctioneer purred, his pointed ears swiveling to catch the various bids. “And mmmost well endowed, as you can see. Now…what ammm I bid?”
“Ten thousand!” a female who was certainly a mistress from Yonnie Six exclaimed.
“Twenty!” shouted another.
“Twenty once…twenty twice…do I hear thirty thousand credits?” The Catara auctioneer’s long furry tail lashed from side to side with excitement.
“Thirty thousand,” the first mistress declared.
“Thirty-five. I must have him for my private collection!” The second mistress glared at her.
“Thirty-eight and not a credit more,” declared the first.
“Thirty-eight,” the auctioneer purred. “Going once…going twice…”
“Fifty thousand credits.” The voice belonged to a medium sized male with thinning gray hair and rings on every finger. His rich robes of purple halla-cloth were pulled tight over his round belly and there was a hungry glitter in his small, piggy eyes that made Trin fear for the adolescent Thrace.
Fifty thousand—that’s what I paid for him. An exorbitant fee for an ordinary slave. But Thrace was anything but ordinary. Trin could see why he had inspired such a high price…twice.
“Sold! To the Master from Gemma!” the Catara auctioneer shouted when no one else countered the bid.
Suddenly, there was a commotion a few rows down.
“No!” A large Havoc male, the same size Thrace was now, came charging through the crowd, his silver-blue eyes burning. He had his hands bound behind his back but he didn’t let that stop him. “No, you male-raping bastard,” he shouted at the surprised master from Gemma who had just won the auction. “You shall not have him! Not my only son!”
It looked to Trin like he was going to bowl the middle aged, gray haired master right over. But then the master surprised everyone by pulling a blaster from the folds of his purple robes and firing it point-blank at the other male’s chest.
The shot stopped the angry Havoc in his tracks. He halted at once and looked down, a look of surprise on his face as he viewed the gaping, bloody hole in his chest. Then he fell to his knees, swayed a moment more…and crumpled to the ground.
“No!” The howl of pure agony came from the young Thrace. His silver-blue eyes were filled with shock and disbelief. “No, Father…please!” he begged as the security Crangs dragged the bloody corpse away.
“Sir,” began the slaver who had been rushing after the older Havoc. “I appreciate that you felt you were being attacked but that slave was a valuable piece of merchandize and I must protest—”
“Here.” The Master from Gemma threw a jingling bag of credit-coins at the slaver’s feet. “For your trouble. I can’t stand mouthy slaves.”
The slaver picked up the bag and hefted it expertly in one many-fingered hand. At once his expression changed from anger to avarice.
“A fair price. Most kind, Master.”
“Take it and go.” The Master turned his greedy gaze on Thrace once more. “I have a new slave to attend to…”
Trin watched in horror as Thrace was dragged away, still looking over his shoulder and shouting for his father…begging him to get up…to not be dead…to come back.
Oh Thrace, I’m so sorry…so terribly sorry…
The scene was horrible—it made Trin feel like her heart was being twisted in a spiked glove. She wished she could do something but she was frozen in place, unable to move or go after the young Thrace. Unable to help him in any way or do anything but watch.
I don’t want to watch this! Please, just let me go…
But she couldn’t go and the worst was yet to come.
The scene shifted to the young Thrace in a bedchamber wearing only a thick leather belt with a few scraps of fabric hanging from it for cover. He had his arms tied behind his back and he was wearing a cruel black pain collar with silver agony conducting studs.
Trin watched, her heart beating in her throat. What was happening now? At least the young Havoc seemed to be all alone. Maybe he would be all right. Maybe…just then the gray haired master walked in.
“Are you ready?” he demanded, with no preamble. He came to stand before Thrace and glared up at him. “Ready to say the words? Ready to kneel before me and accept your fate as a good slave should?”
“Never.” Thrace raised his chin, looking coolly down his nose at the master. Though he had obviously yet to reach his full size, he was still bigger than he had been in the auction scene. Clearly some months or maybe even a cycle had passed. “Never,” he said again, glaring boldly at the other male. “I’ll never bow to you. Never acknowledge you as my master.”
“Bite your tongue, boy.” The master glared at him. “Or else maybe I should cut it out. I’d do it without a second’s hesitation if it didn’t feel so good wrapped around my shaft.”
“You’ve never had me willingly and you never will,” Thrace growled. “You have to use the force gag every time because if you don’t you know I’ll bite that tiny, shriveled piece of meat you call a shaft in two and spit it out.”
The master’s face grew scarlet with rage.
“You dare!” he roared, advancing on Thrace. “You dare to speak so to your master when you ought to be kneeling before me instead? When you ought to be taking the oath of fealty, swearing to be mine forever?”
“I’ll never be yours,” Thrace spat. “You might own my body but you cannot own my soul. You killed my sire and someday I will repay the favor.”
“You mouthy little bastard.” The master’s face was nearly puce now. “Take back those words and swear the oath of fealty to me now or I swear by all the Gods I’ll make you sorry.”