Page 52 of Cruel Master
Fuck yes. Maybe it will be chocolate. Or paint. I’ve been asking for paint to decorate, but so far, it hasn’t arrived. I close my eyes and wait. A couple of loud thunks have me twitching, desperate to open my eyes, but I manage to restrain myself. If I peek, he’ll know, and whatever this treat is will disappear in a heartbeat.
After a whole ice age, he pets my head. “Good, doll. Happy to see you’ve learned a little patience.”
I’ve had no option. After weeks—months?—I’ve had to learn to appreciate the quiet times. “Thank you, Master.”
“You may open your eyes and examine what I’ve brought you.”
Heart racing, I do. At first, what I see makes no sense. He’s placed a freestanding cabinet against the wall, and a small, high-sided tank stands on top of it. Soft light fills it, and it’s full of foliage. What the hell? I get to my feet, squint into the tank, and let out a squeal when I see its occupant.
A regal jumping spider sits on a leaf. Its fur is a beautiful shade of burnt orange, and it scuttles up the branch as I watch. I smile as I follow its quick movements.
I’ve always loved spiders. Back when I was married, I went through a phase where I was desperate to get a pet one, but Hadrian was petrified of them, so it didn’t feel fair. I never used to let him kill the ones that appeared in our various apartments, making me the official spider relocation specialist.
Sometimes I’d come home to find a spider trapped underneath a glass, ready for me to remove it. I loved that he didn’t kill them even when he could have gotten away with it.
Now I grin up at Saldar, and he moves to stand behind me, hand resting on the small of my back.
His deep voice rumbles, “Everything you need to take care of her is inside the cabinet, along with a book on what to do. You can train her to be handled with a little effort. Food will arrive daily.”
Her.
My little captive is female. It’s stupid, but my heart swells, and tears sting my eyes.
Before I can stop myself, I’m sobbing.
Fuck’s sake.
Saldar wraps me in his arms, as he always does when I lose it like this. It happens every so often, and I can never predict what will kick it off. The first few times, I was terrified he’d lash out—what man wants a weepy sex slave?—but henever did.
I snuggle into his chest until the storm passes. I don’t even know why I’m crying. This just made everything better.
Once I quiet, he strokes my hair. “Do you like her, doll?”
The words vibrate through me, and I crane my neck to look at him. “Yes. Thank you.”
More tears threaten, but I force them down and ask a question to distract myself. “How did you know?”
“I know everything about you.”
It’s his stock response, and I don’t bother pushing for more, but the analytical part of me has kicked into gear. How the fuckdidhe know? I’m sure he’s had my phone and browser cloned for a long time, but that wouldn’t have told him about my spider obsession. Not unless he’s had them cloned for the last ten years.
Jesus. Has he?
At times, his knowledge of me crosses the line to absolutely freaky. Sometimes I think he can read my mind. Is it possible? Of course not. Probably.
I look back at the vivarium, mainly to distract myself from the dark thoughts. Saldar gives my ass a quick squeeze. “Go on. Take a proper look at everything.”
He seats himself on the altar and watches as I do just that. For the next hour, I immerse myself in my new companion. The cupboard holds a box of mealworms, a book on caring for spiders, equipment for cleaning and maintaining the tank, and a paintbrush to train her to sit on my hand.
I don’t dare try handling her yet, in case she gets frightened and bolts, but I feed her a few of the bugs and watch, transfixed, as she catches them. Her days are going to be much like my own, though hopefully the food selection is more to her taste.
Saldar’s voice snaps me out of the hypnotic trance I’d fallen into. “Doll.”
I spin immediately, meeting his glowing red gaze. He’s as relaxed as he ever looks, seated on the altar with his hands behind him. As time has gone on, some of the stiff formality has worn away. He’s still as strict as ever, but he seems easier in the role than he did at first.
It feels like he gets genuine enjoyment from bringing me things that make me happy, but I can’t assume his motives. Maybe he’s just following a step-by-step slide to brainwashing a captive. If he is, it’s working. Whoever wrote it could sell it for a million bucks.
“Yes, Master?”
