Page 38 of Primal Bond

Finn gasped, his voice trembling. "Y-yes, Master."

It was just for show, but Zanik felt a surge of heat at the title. He brought his hand down again, harder this time. Finn's cry was different — lower, almost a moan.

There was an unmistakable hardness pressing against his leg. His eyes widened slightly, but he quickly schooled his features. The other Borraq were still watching, nodding approvingly at the display of dominance.

Grinning wickedly, Zanik continued the punishment. Each smack drew a new sound from Finn — cries that sounded like pain to the observers. Zanik knew better. He could feel Finn's arousal growing with each impact.

Zanik’s breath quickened as Finn squirmed in his lap, each smack drawing forth breathy cries that ignited a fire within him. He felt the heat of desire pooling low in his belly, battling against the carefully constructed walls he’d built around himself.

The urge to claim Finn, to pull him close and dominate him completely, clawed at his self-control.

The way Finn’s body reacted — how he writhed, how he panted — spurred Zanik’s thoughts down a dark path. He imaginedtaking Finn right there in front of the crowd, claiming him in a way that left no doubt who owned him.

The idea sent a shudder of need coursing through him. Zanik drew a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs as he fought to regain control.

“Enough,” Zanik growled, his voice low and steady, masking the tumult inside him. "You're done."

Finn slithered off Zanik’s lap, boneless and pliant, and landed by Zanik's boots again — but the look he shot Zanik was anything but submissive. He kept his hands in his lap, hiding his body's reaction. Finn's eyes were dark with need and annoyance, his frustration evident in the flush that crept across his cheeks.

Zanik had to suppress a grin; he found that defiance intoxicating.

The display over, the other patrons of the club went back to their discussion. Some floated over to Zanik, taking advantage of the scene to open a conversation with him — clearly wanting to curry favor, now that a way to introduce themselves had been opened.

Zanik maintained a facade of indifference as he engaged in conversation with the Borraq around him. The chatter flowed easily, but his mind remained sharp, focused on the prize he sought — Rivek. He flicked his gaze around the club, noting the way the patrons shifted, some eyes lingering on Finn, their interest a source of irritation simmering beneath his surface.

“A bold prize,” one Borraq chuckled, gesturing towards Finn’s position at Zanik’s feet. “You’ll train him well.”

Zanik forced a smirk, nodding in agreement. “He's proving to be a valuable asset.”

Touch him and I'll kill you where you stand.

“Smart choice,” another Borraq chimed in, grinning. “You know, the right human can really take the edge off those long inter-sector journeys.”

He's mine. Mine.

His new hangers-on began to chatter amongst themselves, exaggerating their boldness and achievements in the hope of catching his interest. None of them did.

Just as Zanik began to zone out, a new presence slid into the chair beside him. Zanik turned, his eyes narrowing instinctively.

The newcomer had a robust build, a little shorter than Zanik, but no less imposing. Sharp horns curved menacingly above a rugged face, and the scars that criss-crossed his skin told stories of battles fought and survived.

“Kyral,” the Borraq introduced himself, voice steady and deep, radiating an aura of confidence.

“Zanik,” he replied, keeping his tone neutral.

Kyral’s presence felt formidable, a quiet strength that made Zanik instinctively assess him. There was a tension in the air, something unspoken that made Zanik’s instincts hum. He noted the way Kyral moved, the subtle confidence in each step, a man who knew his strength.

This was no mere petty criminal or mercenary, desperately trying to show off their pet in public to gain cred. As if recognizing that, the other hangers-on made their excuses and left. No doubt trying to find somewhere else to posture, where they wouldn't immediately look outclassed by their company.

Who was this?

Zanik’s gaze flicked to the slave at Kyral's feet, a young human with wavy brown hair and wide blue eyes. The boy held himself with a perfect obedience. He knelt with a graceful posture, hands resting lightly on his thighs, eyes cast down. Every part of him screamed that he was well-trained.

Finn knelt beside Zanik’s feet, still pretending to be ashamed of his punishment. But Zanik saw the way Finn couldn't help sneaking a glance at the newcomers—

The moment Finn looked up, something shifted within him.

Zanik caught the subtle change in Finn's posture, the way he went stiff, muscles taut as if they were coiling for… What? Escape? A fight?

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