He takes out the little vial, uncorks it, and dribbles two drops—half the dosage—into my mouth.
I moan, my body trembling for it. I hang on my bound wrists and close my eyes, waiting for it to take effect.
“How much for the human?” I hear a deep voice ask.
“Oh, she’ll fetch more than all the slaves in here put together,” the overseer boasts. “She’s been genetically modified. She’s stronger and more durable than most humans. Capable of working five times as hard as the average human slave. Immune to illness, too.”
“Wouldn’t a slave-master wish his slave to be weak? Easier to control?” the male asks. There’s a deceptively casual note to his accented words that make me crack my lids to take a peek.
He’s not Ocretion or Kraa. I don’t know what species he is—I’ve never seen one like him. He’s larger than the Kraa with purple skin, stubby horns on the top of his head, and broad shoulders. He carries a sword at his belt. He’s some kind of warrior.
“Not for your kind,” the caretaker scoffs. “Besides, she requires a dose of medicine twice a day. That need keeps her exceedingly obedient.”
I grind my teeth at his nasty smile.
The white-clad warrior scans me with seeming disinterest, yet for some reason, I have the feeling it’s an act.
“May I approach her?” he asks. There’s a regal quality to his voice, like he’s used to being in command.
Oddly, I find it exciting. Or maybe it’s just that the medicine’s starting to work, and I can see him more clearly now. He’s beautiful—square jaw, smooth, hairless skin, warm brown eyes.
I expect him to squeeze my breast, as the caretaker did, but instead he puts a knuckle under my chin and nudges it up, turning my face from side to side to inspect me. “She’s in need of this medicine now?”
My heart picks up speed that he noticed. I haven’t had masters who noticed or cared about such things before, except to torture me. And maybe that’s all this male would want to do, as well, but for some reason, I find myself wondering what it would be like to have such a strong, virile male as my master.
Would he use my body for things other than hard labor?
Would he be gentle? Take care of my needs the way no one has before?
But that’s ridiculous.
I’m not sticking around to be some horned alien’s slave.
I’m going to escape. Get to Jesel where they say humans live free.
“She’s been given a half-dose, so she presents well,” The overseer says.
“Why not a full dose?” the purple warrior asks. He runs a thumb across my lower lip.
Surprised by the unexpectedly pleasurable touch, I part my lips and meet his gaze.
“We’ve found keeping her needy ensures her good behavior,” the caretaker says silkily.
“She appears sickly,” the male snaps. “How do I know you’re not actually trying to get rid of an ailing human with limited abilities?”
“We have holo vids showing her in action.” The caretaker flips open a small device. On it, I see myself lifting, leaping.
“Could be faked.” The warrior narrows his eyes. “She can barely stand.”
The overseer strides over, the wart on his cleft nose twitching. “Give her the rest of it.” He jerks a hand at the caretaker, who shrugs and pulls out the vial.
Well. This is going better than expected. I would celebrate more if I didn’t suspect the horned male had just manipulated them into this. Which leads me to wonder what his angle is.
I swivel toward the caretaker, walking on my tippy toes to try to get closer. My left nipple brushes against the purple-skinned male’s white tunic. He doesn’t move back. His eyes dip to my nipples, which tighten into stiff buds, as if preening under his gaze.
His hand lightly settles on my waist, and his horns thicken and lean in my direction.
If I weren’t so desperate to get the rest of my dosage, I’d savor the fact that the attraction between us is mutual.