His Human Vessel (Zandian Masters 5)

“It greatly improves the chances of her staying, does it not?” Zander flicked his brows, and understanding swept over Daneth. This was largely a matter of semantics—no real change. Except that Bayla might choose a different slave master over him.

Veck—would she? He couldn’t let it happen. He cursed himself for not establishing a closer bond with her.

He closed his eyes and worked to unclench his fists. “I see. I will speak with her now, my lord.” With a bow, he left the great room in search of his slave. No—not his slave. His female.

He found her in the kitchen with Lamira. She jumped to her feet when he arrived. Was she relieved to see him? Or just exceptionally obedient? Either way, he liked it far too much.

Please let her stay.

He didn’t put the leash back on but led her to his chamber with a hand at her waist. When the door had swished shut, he cleared his throat.

Bayla tensed. “What is it, Master?”

He drew his brows up, taken off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“You seem tense. Did the prince not give you permission to begin the experiment?” She tangled her fingers together, her eyes lowered, but he read concern in her tone.

His forehead wrinkled. He’d underestimated Bayla’s powers of observation. Was she really so in tune with him she could sense his mood? The idea produced a riot of sensation in his chest. He couldn’t remember any being caring to attempt to read him. He’d always been th

e observer, not the other way around. Not even his parents had paid attention to his mood as a child. And while he counted the beings in this pod as his friends, did they really know anything about him? The idea saddened him, as much as Bayla’s noticing draped him with a sense of power and pleasure.

He cupped her chin, lifting it. “You’re quite observant, little human. No, it’s not that.” He dropped his hand and paced away from her. As he struggled to find the right words, his tension mounted. What if she chose to leave?

What would happen to his experiment?

He refused to admit the disturbing feelings beneath that concern—what would happen to him without Bayla?

“Prince Zander has forbidden Zandians to own slaves.” He let that hang in the air, reluctant to go on.

Bayla said nothing, which made it harder to guess what her answer would be. He forced himself to turn around and look at her.

The quiet intelligence in her regard rocked him. She was so much more than an incredibly fertile body. There were layers there he hadn’t yet unpeeled. He may not have a chance now.

“You may choose to remain as my test subject. If you do, you will answer to me and remain subject to my discipline.”

“And the alternative?”

Veck. She wanted the alternative. He paced the length of the room. “I can return you to the fertility farm. Or sell you elsewhere, to another slave owner if you wish.” Hell. Why did he offer that? He didn’t want her to choose to leave. And yet, the idea of sending her to a situation she hated put his teeth on edge.

“I see. So there’s really no change, except I can choose to go back to my old situation if I like.”

“You would no longer be my slave if you stayed,” he said stiffly. “You would not wear my collar or sleep in a cage in my room. You would be given your own small chamber, though you still must obey my orders and perform any duties required by me.”

She said nothing.

“So...what do you choose?” He turned to face her.

Her sapphire eyes studied him. “I would essentially still be a prisoner, though—on this pod? And I must do everything you say or be punished. But I won’t wear your collar or sleep in your room. Is that correct?”

He nodded, the tension in him mounting. His fists clenched so tightly, his knuckles cracked.

“No.” She lifted her chin and shook her head.

His heart stopped. “No?” The crack in his voice matched the fissure in his chest, growing wider and wider by the second. “You choose to leave?”

“If I stay, I wear your collar. Sleep in your room. I will not suffer the humiliation of your ownership without the reward.”

Reward? The room swayed under his feet. He closed his eyes, drawing a long, slow breath in through his nostrils to clear his head.