Page 2 of To Tame An Angel

“Is that how you chose father?” I asked, because I was in constant desperate need for information about the stranger who’d meant so much to her.

He lived in the shadows of my childhood home. She never spoke about him, and I suspected she loved him. It’s a suspicion she would never admit, for she didn’t wish for death. Nor would she admit to a weakness. All I know of father was he didn’t live like other men, chained, and abused. He would share his bed each night with mother and Zaya would sometimes hear them laughing privately. He would play with Zaya, toss her in the air and chase her, constantly cherishing her.

Zaya’s bitterness began the day he disappeared. Be it they killed him, or he left, we don’t know. But one night, he was gone. From that day forward, mother was never the same. It was the same night I was born.

I believe the fantastical notion of love between my parents carved my own ridiculous dreams about my own angel-man. Maybe I could experience the forbidden. If my sisters ever had such dreams, they’d not shared them.

Mother’s eyes were lost in the movement of men below. Suddenly, she flinched and turned away. “No.”

We were ushered ahead to the fenced area where the best of the best were brought for our inspection.

I paused as we entered. Over fifty men kneeled on the grainy ground, some in cages, but all of them staring down. There are so many to choose from that I am overwhelmed. They’re all large, young, healthy, and attractive.

Mother and my sisters glided forward, working their way through the selected as the taskmaster proudly displayed the men. Naturally, taskmasters are never selected themselves. I hesitated, suddenly unsure, and my stomach fisted so tightly I thought I would be sick.

“They have little selection this year, don’t they?” mother asked with a tone of antipathy.

She held up a man’s chin. His eyes were closed. His hands were shackled behind him, and his torso was pinned with a golden rope. Just in case he dared sprout his wings, it would be easier to capture and kill him.

He looked like all the others here. Defeated. There was something off-putting about the entire spectacle.

All my life, I’ve been waiting for this moment. It’s what I’ve trained for. I’m the daughter of General Hollian and I’m expected to be a master tamer, like her. Just like my older sisters. My mother can tame a man in a few hours. Zaya took eight days to tame her angel and Villa five. I was expected to beat their records. Something I doubted.

“Nalla,” mother’s voice is sharp, like the whip she uses whenever one of her men misbehaves.

She was holding a man, pulling his head back and exposing his throat. His eyes remained closed, for they weren’t allowed to look at us until owned. Until he looked upon his mistress. Another sentiment I disagree with. To stare at someone’s eyes is to see their soul and the souls of others was a great curiosity to me.

“He seems easy enough for our Nalla.” Zaya touched his hair and dug her fingers into his scalp. She yanked, and he flinched.

This was not what General Hollian wanted to hear. Mother didn’t like those easily broken. It’s why there were many servants in our home. Once she broke the men, she didn’t want them. It seemed none of them were father.

“No, she shouldn’t feel disappointment so early in life,” Mother scoffed and walked away. She perused others, pausing and studying, then tsking and finding another.

“You don’t have to pick someone today,” Villa said. Her eyes wandered to some of the options, lingering on the man Zaya teased.

An easy thing for Villa to say. She was of age for two years and already she had two men. She seemed to enjoy their company and spent much time with them in her private home. Her enormous belly made her glow, and she rubbed it softly. Villa loved being pregnant. She was born for this. She’d not said who the father was. I doubt she knows or cares. And it would matter little. A child’s father was not as important as a child’s mother.

“Perhaps I’ll be the one to take another today,” Zaya said and laughed as she moved to another man. There were scars across his back. He was large and muscled, with a grizzly beard. My eyes lingered on the markings. He’d been abused.

“You have enough,” mother said, walking back to us.

Zaya scoffed, “Four is hardly enough–”

“It’s your sister’s day, not yours,” mother said and looked at me. “Come, I found one of interest.”

Her tone indicated that I wasn’t allowed to ignore her. She was still my mother and I’ve no autonomy until I tamed one of these men. If she’d spotted one, she believed to be the right one, then I should at least pretend to consider.

She pointed at a blond man, head bent, hands fisted, body tense. There was a fresh wound on his thigh and it looked red, in need of tending. My instinct was to check on it and see if I could help him.

“Look him over. See if he’s to your liking,” she said.

When I touched the man’s shoulder, he recoiled. I felt sorry for him; it made the wound on his thigh open and fresh blood seeped from it.

“But this is one needs medical attention,” I said, feigning haughtiness. “Certainly, you’d not sell us a bleeding angel?”

Mother raised her brow. There was pride in her, and she coolly eyed the overly apologetic taskmaster. He snapped his fingers, and the wounded man was taken wherever it was they mended their wounds.

I’ve no choice but to move around the men. My dress brushed against their bare backs as I carefully stepped my sandaled feet on the pebbled ground. I stood before a man I found to be attractive. Broad and tanned, with reddish brown hair and the shadow of a thick beard. His head was bent and his fists tight.

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