Page 58 of Milk & Malice: Vadik
Why wouldn’t they let this go?
I grunted and checked the contents of the box. Months of supply. If I needed more, I’d order it.
She could grieve. She could cry. As long as she functioned. There were only two outcomes: a slow death of her mind, or adaptation. Either would serve me.
Her sobbing killed my mood.
I wanted my holes back.
I turned to face them, box checked and tucked under my arm.
“Yes, I have a pet. And no, it’s none of your business,” I said flatly.“I’ll be back Monday. Keep them warm for me.”
I walked past without looking back. But I still heard Viktor’s mutter.
“Shit, I’m not one for empathy, but I pity her—whoever she is.”
The Pakhan said nothing.
He knew exactly what I was.
And what I am now.
Chapter 25
Lena
The longer I waited, the more nervous I became. My breasts ached for relief, and my belly growled, but he didn’t come. I left the television on—the voices kept me company—but I kept one eye on the dark wooden door.
When he finally arrived, I sat up but watched him warily. He brought food along with a silver water bottle.
“From next week, I’ll be returning to work. You’ll be milked and fed in the mornings. Most days I finish in the afternoon,” he said, placing the food on the bed.“Your meals will be served in the trough.”
I glanced at the raised rubber trough and felt sick. He’d always fed me by hand until now.
“You’ll get one cherry drink per day. It contains vitamins, and I expect you to finish it,” he added, lifting the lid to show me the straw.
“Moo,” I whispered, moving closer to the food.
He remained cold and distant for the rest of his time in the room. Clinical when he placed the suction cups on my breasts—but even then, I was grateful. Grateful for a full belly and my favourite dark cherry drink.
It wasn’t until he left, closing the door behind him, that the tears fell.
I needed someone. Anyone. But I couldn’t bring myself to become an animal—a half-human experiment for an insane butcher.
As broken as I felt that night I slept better.
???
The door creaked open, and I blinked, waking slowly. My mind felt sluggish. My mouth was dry, and I eyed the cherry drink in his hand. He wore shorts and a T-shirt. The grey fabric soaked with sweat around the neck.
When I sat up, the blanket slipped down. Milk had leaked from me. My cheeks burned. I couldn’t control my body.
His gaze didn’t linger the way it used to. He crossed the room, emptied the food into the trough, and left the water bottle open on the small table.
“I’ll be back to milk you after I’ve had a shower,” he said.
Then he was gone—before I could even nod.
