Chapter 8: The Wolf in the Sheets
Perspective: Jack Vance
I didn't win with strength. I won with rage.
When the two boys lunged for the collar, I waited. I let them tackle each other, let them exhaust themselves in a frenzy of panic. Then, when one was pinned, I stepped in. I kicked the dominant one in the ribs, hard enough to break bone, and snatched the heavy leather collar from the sawdust.
I buckled it around my own neck. The leather was still warm from Mia’s grip.
"Mine," I growled, staring down at the whimpering boys.
Mia clapped, her eyes shining with delight.
"Finally," she squealed. "A dog with teeth."
She snapped her fingers. Gary opened the kennel door.
"Leave the strays," Mia commanded, stepping over the boys who were now huddled in the corner, sobbing. "Jay, teach them how to beg. Jack is coming with me."
She grabbed the leash attached to my collar and pulled.
I followed her out of the blinding white light of the Kennel, up a spiral staircase, and into the main house.
Mia’s bedroom was exactly what I expected: a chaotic shrine to excess. Clothes were strewn everywhere, empty wine bottles lined the vanity, and the bed was a massive four-poster monstrosity covered in silk and furs.
"Shower," Mia ordered, pointing to the en-suite bathroom. "You smell like the pound. I want you clean."
I washed the sawdust and sweat off my body in a shower that was bigger than my first apartment. As the hot water hit my skin, my mind raced.
Ian had survived by becoming a manager. Jay had survived by becoming a pet.
If I wanted to survive—if I wanted to get close enough to Richard and Robert to burn this place down—I had to be something else. I had to be indispensable.
Mia was the weak link. She was volatile, jealous, and desperate for attention. She didn't just want a dog to kick; she wanted someone to validate her.
I turned off the water. I didn't towel off completely. I walked back into the bedroom dripping wet, wearing nothing but the leather collar.
Mia was waiting on the bed. She had stripped off her dress and was wearing a sheer silk robe, lying back against the pillows with a glass of vodka in her hand. She looked me up and down, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Come here, boy," she said, patting the mattress. "Crawl."
I dropped to my hands and knees. I crawled to the edge of the bed.
"Good," she murmured, reaching out to stroke my jaw. "Now, lie at my feet and—"
I caught her wrist.
It was a gamble. Dogs don't grab their masters. But I wasn't trying to be a dog anymore.
I looked up at her, holding her gaze. I saw the surprise in her eyes, followed by a flicker of intrigue.
"You don't want a dog tonight, Mia," I said, my voice low and rough.
"Excuse me?" she bristled, trying to pull her hand away. "I tell you what I want. I own you."
"You own the collar," I corrected her, moving closer, rising up so I was hovering over her. "But you're bored, aren't you? Bored of Ian and his rules. Bored of boys who don't know what they're doing."
I ran my hand up her bare thigh. Her skin was hot. She stopped fighting against my grip. Her breath hitched.
"Show me then," she challenged, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Show me why I shouldn't send you back to the cage."
I moved over her. I didn't rush. I treated her body like a map I was memorizing.
"I'm going to make you forget about Ian," I whispered against her neck.
I kissed her. It wasn't the submissive peck of a servant. It was deep, demanding, and hungry. I tasted the vodka on her tongue, and the hesitation in her response. But then, she melted. Her arms wound around my neck, her fingers tangling in the short stubble of my hair.
I pushed the robe off her shoulders. She was beautiful, in a terrifying way.
I worshipped her with my hands and my mouth. I traced the curve of her hips, the arch of her spine. I paid attention to every gasp, every shiver, learning what made her tick.
"Jack..." she moaned, her head falling back against the pillows.
I moved down her body. I parted her legs, positioning myself between them. I looked up at her, seeing the vulnerability behind the cruelty.
"Tell me to stop," I dared her.
"Don't," she gasped, her hips lifting off the mattress to meet me. "Don't you dare stop."
I didn't.
I gave her everything I had. I used every trick I knew, every ounce of experience I had over the terrified boys she usually toyed with. I was relentless. I was attentive. I made her the center of the universe.
The room filled with the sounds of our collision—the rustle of silk, the heavy breathing, the desperate cries of a woman who was used to taking, but had forgotten what it felt like to receive.
I felt her body tense, her nails digging into my shoulders, drawing blood.
"Yes," she cried out, her voice high and shattered. "Yes! Oh god!"
She arched hard, her entire body shuddering as the climax hit her. She screamed, a raw, honest sound that had nothing to do with the Legacy and everything to do with the release.
She collapsed back onto the furs, panting, her skin flushed and slick with sweat.
I lay beside her, my heart hammering against my ribs.
For a long time, the only sound was her breathing slowing down.
Then, Mia turned to look at me. The cruelty was gone from her eyes, replaced by a hazy, blissful satisfaction. She reached out and traced the leather collar around my neck.
"You're not a dog," she whispered, curling into my chest. "You're a wolf."
"I'm whatever you need me to be," I lied, stroking her hair.
She closed her eyes, sleep overtaking her.
"Stay," she murmured. "Don't go back to the kennel. Sleep here."
"As you wish, Mistress," I said softly.
I lay there in the dark, listening to the rain against the window. I had won. I was in the bed. I was in the family.
Now, I just had to figure out how to destroy them without losing myself in the process.
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