Page 5 of Bought by the Broken Beast
“This bargain,” he says, voice a low growl. “It is not one of master and slave. It is a pact of vengeance. My vengeance, and your survival. The terms are mine to set.”
Before I can respond, he draws a small, wicked-looking blade from a hidden sheath in his boot. Without flinching, he slices the tip of his thumb. A single, dark drop of blood wells up. He presses his thumb to the bottom of the contract, smearing a crimson mark next to my master’s signature. A blood oath. A bond far older and more powerful than any Zotkak law.
He rolls the parchment and hands it back to me. It feels warm from his touch.
“You do not own me, human,” he says, his amber eyes boring into mine, sealing the pact between us. “You have merely rented my wrath.”
4
VOTOI
The blood on my thumb is a minor sting, a familiar pain that grounds me in the cold reality of my new purpose. The pact is sealed. Vengeance has a name, and survival has a face—the pale, determined face of the human woman who now holds my leash, and my only hope.
I take the lead without a word, turning from the foul-smelling alley and plunging deeper into the city’s shadowed veins. Above us, the grand marble colonnades and stately manors of the Vakkak and wealthy Zotkak districts rise toward the moon, a world I once called my own. Down here, in the warren of streets that service the capital, the air is ripe with the scent of coal smoke, cheap ale, and desperation. This is the realm of the Fiepakak, the laborers and freedmen, a place a Saru would never walk. The irony is a bitter taste in my mouth; to reclaim my honor, I must crawl through the very dishonor I once disdained.
The human—Bella—follows close behind, her steps surprisingly quiet for one not trained in stealth. She clutches the satchel of coin to her chest like a shield, her head on a constant swivel. Her fear is a palpable scent in the air, sharp andclean, but it is tempered by a rigid control that I am beginning to recognize. She is a creature of intellect, not instinct, and I wonder if her sharp mind will be enough to keep her alive.
“Stay in my shadow,” I grunt, the first words spoken between us since the oath. “Do not speak. Do not stop. If I run, you run.”
She simply nods, her dark eyes wide but focused.
We move through the city like ghosts. I know these backways not from experience, but from strategy. As a Vakkak noble, I was required to study the capital’s layout, to know its weaknesses, its escape routes, its arteries and its dead ends. Knowledge I thought was for leading soldiers in the defense of Milthar, I now use to sneak through its guts like a common criminal.
As we near the merchant district where Kairen’s estate stands, the scent of the sea grows stronger, mingling with the smell of night-blooming jasmine from the walled gardens of the wealthy. The patrols become more frequent. City guards, their horned helms gleaming in the moonlight, walk their predictable routes. But there are others. Shadows that detach themselves from doorways, figures on rooftops that are too still, too watchful. Malacc’s men. The serpent’s poison is already spreading through the city’s watch.
We take refuge in the deep shadow of a blacksmith’s awning, the air still warm from the day’s forge. Across the wide, moonlit plaza stands Kairen’s estate, a formidable structure of white stone and dark timber. Its windows are all lit, a hive of activity when it should be settling into slumber.
“He has already reported you,” I murmur, my voice a low rumble.
Bella presses herself against the wall beside me, her breathing shallow. “I expected as much.”
As we watch, a squadron of a dozen city guards marches up to the main gate. They are led by a Minotaur whose armor isfiner than the rest, his helmet crested with the obsidian sigil of a wolf’s head. My blood runs cold.
“That is Captain Vorlag,” I breathe, the name a curse on my tongue. “He is Malacc’s dog. I saw him at my trial, whispering in Malacc’s ear.”
The confirmation is a physical blow. This is not a simple matter of a merchant reporting a theft. This is a lord’s agent taking control of the scene. They are not here to investigate a runaway slave. They are here to hunt for a witness and bury a secret.
Vorlag pounds on the gate. It swings open, and the guards storm the estate. We are too late. The house is a fortress now, crawling with the enemy.
“We cannot get in,” Bella whispers, her voice tight with despair.
“Not yet,” I correct.
A shout from the far side of the plaza draws my attention. A lone guard, positioned as a lookout, has spotted us. He points, his bellow echoing across the stones. “There! In the shadows!”
Instinct takes over. I grab Bella’s arm, my grip like iron, and pull her with me, back into the labyrinth of alleys. “Run!”
The hunt is on. The sound of heavy, armored footfalls and furious shouts echoes behind us. We plunge into the darkness, the world becoming a blur of stone walls and overflowing refuse bins. I am faster, stronger, but I am tethered to the human. Her lungs burn, I can hear her ragged gasps, but she does not falter, her small legs pumping furiously to keep up.
We round a corner and come face to face with two more guards, their swords drawn. They have cut us off.
There is no time for finesse. I shove Bella behind me and charge. I meet the first guard with the intense force of a battering ram, my shoulder crashing into his chestplate. I hear his ribs crack as he flies backward, slamming into his companion. I donot stop. I grab a heavy wooden market cart laden with unsold cabbages and, with a roar, heave it at them. The cart splinters against the wall, burying the two guards under an avalanche of wood and vegetables.
“This way!” Bella cries, pointing down a narrow side-passage I had overlooked. Her mind is working even in the midst of chaos.
We scramble down the passage, the shouts of our pursuers growing closer again. We emerge into a small, enclosed courtyard, the back of a textile dyer’s workshop. The air smells of acrid chemicals. And there is no other exit. A dead end.
Heavy, armored bodies block the entrance to the passage we have just exited. Vorlag himself stands at the forefront, a cruel smile twisting his lips.
