I sighed. Two emotions swirled inside—exasperation and gratefulness. He’d replied to my overshare. He hadn’t shot me down or been the pillock he usually was. Progress.
The tentative softness inside was enough to get me through the next few hours.
Shouldn’t you want more?
My heart hardened.
Kite had replied to my veiled hints for encouragement but I’d hoped…
It doesn’t matter what I hoped.
It seemed everything I wanted in this world wasn’t available—including more than one kind word from Kite. We’d been so close to a normal conversation. Learning, sharing, building a connection despite the complications of sexting.
He’d let me in for a microsecond then shut me out once again, using sex as a tool to keep me in my place and remind me I didn’t factor in his life—either as a friend or even associate. I was the unseen whore. The unpaid prostitute who lived in his phone.
I couldn’t let him hurt me. I couldn’t let him weaken me.
He’d done what I needed—reminding me I was strong enough. There was nothing else to do but finish the conversation, so I could leave the soul-sucking fantasy and return to the tragedy of my new world.
Kite007: You’re not sucking. Fine, I’ll give you some encouragement. If you blow me, I’ll return the favour. I’ll flip you onto your back, spread your legs, and bury my face between your legs. I’d bite you, fucking you with my tongue until you forgot everything and came.
My stomach attempted a small swoop. It wasn’t romantic, but it did give me a tiny bit more warmth I needed.
Before I could reply, another message vibrated.
Kite007: Tell me where you are right now. Are you naked? Finger yourself for me. Take a photo if you’re brave.
I laughed. The sound shredded the space that Jethro had so kindly given me for the night. Laughing was the only thing I could do. Take a photo? Of what? The bruises on my palms from crawling to the kennels last night? How about the cuts on my knees?
Maybe he wants a picture of my elegant bedroom and wonderful bedfellows.
Looking up for the first time since I woke, I let the uselessness of my situation get the better of me. The bravery I’d been clutching to like a raft in a rolling ocean, splintered and drowned. Painful despair saturated my heart, weighing me down like the anchors I so often clung to.
By all standards, the kennel was sheer luxury. The roof was watertight. The floor clean and sanitary. It was even draft free.
But it wasn’t just mine. I had to share.
Squirrel, my favourite of the eleven canines I’d spent the night with, nudged my arm. I’d named him after the tree-climbing rodent thanks to his slightly bushy tail. With a doggy smile, he wheedled his way under my arm, leaning heavily against my torso.
I’d never had pets growing up. As a family, we were too busy working or travelling to exotic places to source more material and merchandise. Until last night, I’d had an adolescent fear of dogs.
That had evolved to terror when Jethro threw me inside.
I shuddered, hugging Squirrel closer to me, stealing his gentle warmth. Last night Jethro had tried to destroy me. Not through fists or rape or even harsh words. No, he tried to destroy me by removing any entitlement I had as a human. Marking me as no better than the dogs he kept.
He would’ve succeeded if my terror hadn’t mellowed into bewilderment then gratefulness. He’d done me a favour—I preferred the company of his hounds. They not only tolerated my intrusion but welcomed me into the pack.
Squirrel licked my pebble-indented palm, letting me know he understood my aches. I still suffered from crawling from the manor, past immaculate flower beds, over precision mowed grass, and cutting through shadows cast by imposing hedges.
Everything throbbed when I finally crawled the last metre and sat waiting beside a large roller door. My dress was torn, my knees bleeding—not that he’d cared.
The estate was bigger than I could contemplate, but even in the darkness, I’d made out the buildings around us. The stables were across the cobblestone yard. A granary let its soft grainy fragrance permeate the air. The gentle huffing of horses broke the silence along with wuffles and snuffles from dogs.
Jethro left me sitting on my knees while he disappeared into what I assumed was a tack room. He returned with a large scratchy blanket and a bucket, before unlocking the roller door and beckoning me inside.
Throwing the items into the dark interior, he bowed. “Your boudoir, my lady.” Leaning down, he swatted my behind. “Go to bed like a good little pet. You have a big day ahead of you.”
When I didn’t move, his foot landed on my arse, shoving me forward, giving me no choice but to crawl quickly into darkness.
The moment I’d traded starlight for no light, I panicked.
Jethro threw the bolt home, locking me inside a room that thrived with moving bodies, claws on cobblestones, and soft growls of ownership.
The first brush of a wet nose on my cheek ripped a small scream from my lips. I curled tight into a ball, hugging my knees, squeezing my eyes against being eaten alive.
I waited for sharp teeth. I waited to be bitten.
But they hadn’t eaten me.
Far from it. I’d been licked and nuzzled and welcomed into a pack of unknown numbers.
I was a stranger in their domain, but when I finally overrode my fear and looked into their eyes, they were bright with curiosity rather than territorial anger.
The rest of the night was spent making a semi-comfortable bed out of a loosely packed hay bale, and wrapping myself tight in the scratchy blanket. I’d aimed to sleep alone with my new friends scattered in their usual spaces, but they had other ideas.
Once I was settled, they’d crowded around me, squeezing close, curling around each other until I was the epicentre in a nest of canines.
The moment they’d quietened, I took out my phone.
Five missed calls, three messages from my twin, and one from my father.
Biting my lip to retain what composure I could, I read my father’s first.
ArchTextile: Nila, I know you’ll have questions. I know you’ll hate me. But please, my wonderful girl, know I didn’t want any of this. I was stupid not to heed your mother’s warning. I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I hope we can talk—when you’re ready. I understand if you can never forgive me. I don’t know how much of this they’ll see, but I’ll never stop searching, never stop hoping. Please don’t think I gave you up lightly. They have…ways. They have you but they’ll keep you in good health. We have time. Love you, sweetheart.