Bought By The Masters Read online

  My friends don’t know who Cato Dagen is, and I certainly don’t, but he seems happy to explain. More than happy, by the way he postures himself, like he expects us to be impressed. “I’m in another district to keep it quiet, but my father’s a representative of the Cyan District. Pretty influential figure. I’ve been helping him gain support for a bill to be passed through.” Now he hesitates, and there’s a flash of apology in his eyes. “Probably not the best subject to talk about with humans, though.”

  “Why not?”

  Beron steps in. “Slaves,” he says. “He and his father have been working on a bill to make slavery an act of criminal offense.”

  Oh. Right. “Slaves,” I repeat, while Alex looks thoroughly alarmed, and Tiffany leans forward, interested. Although slavery is all but abolished in most human countries, I’ve read that it remains popular in shifter ones. “What’s the deal about that, anyway? I heard that some places were safer than others. We selected this district because it was supposed to be people friendly.”

  “It is,” Cato confirms, and he slides his glasses back on, because some people are glancing our way in a curious manner. Though he’s revealed his identity to us, it’s clear he doesn’t want everyone in the vicinity to recognize him.

  Though I think he’s doing a terrible job of making himself look inconspicuous, because he’s gone the opposite way with his clothes, focusing instead on ludicrous attire, and has a bodyguard trailing after him, suggesting he’s someone of importance.

  Son of a policy changer. Similar to a senator, I’m guessing. Halberg’s an immense city, larger than some countries, though the population is something like twenty-three million, spread out between dozens of districts. None of which have the exact same policies in them.

  Beron walks off, bringing a jug of some specialty beer back a moment later, placing it on the center of the table. “What brings you ladies here, anyway?” Beron asks, as he separates drinks for us in plastic cups. I’m not sure if I want to drink any more alcohol, but I taste it for his benefit anyway. I note how by now, all the people who had preternatural appearances have more or less left the bar, and human ones are replacing them.

  “Um…” Alex says, raising one eyebrow at me. She’s not sure if I want to tell complete strangers, but this is a day for new things, and possibly new friends.

  “I’m the reason. Tiffany wanted to cheer me up, and she managed to snag some cheap flights and a hotel in Halberg. Figured we’d visit the frozen city and have a brief taste of magic for ourselves. We’ve not seen too much yet, though. Only arrived here yesterday evening.”

  “Why did Tiffany want to cheer you up?” Cato places a hand under his chin, and I’m a little baffled by the attention. Not opposed to it either, but it’s been a while since I’ve been in a situation to gain attention. You don’t have many flirting opportunities as a workaholic, when time out is just an opportunity to catch up on sleep to prepare for the next shift.

  “Long story short: I was training to be a surgeon. I poured years of my life into it, but the hospital I intended to resident in had an oppressive culture.” I thread my fingers together nervously, trying not to think about the backstabbing, the gossiping, the constant belittling of my character, expertise, and brain. It adds up over time.

  Character building.

  “You were bullied?”

  “I was. I mean, it sounds bad when I say it out loud here, but when you’re in that kind of environment, with so much pressure, so many hours of your life given to it, where one fuck up can mean the difference between a person living or dying – the last thing you want is people ganging up on you like a pack of wolves. It was relentless to the point where I did fuck up.” I stare at the table, and a frayed coaster beneath my plastic cup. “No one died, because the main surgeon at hand fixed my mistake, but there was talk of getting me barred from hospitals completely.”

  It didn’t matter that the reason I fucked up was because someone jostled me at the wrong moment. Then they swore blind, along with “witnesses” that they did nothing. I stood there, drenched in thick red arterial blood, my usually steady hands trembling as if I’d overdosed on caffeine. I’d frozen like a deer in headlights. The patient almost died because of my hesitation, my shock.

  “Could you intern at another hospital?” Cato says, briefly giving me a pat on the shoulder, though the gesture’s a little awkward. I appreciate it nonetheless. “Are you planning that, since you’ve had the training?”

  “I don’t know. I just want a vacation from it all.” I smile at him, hoping it masks my emotions. I’m nervous of returning to a hospital, if I get accepted again. Because I’m scared that another breakdown will finish me off, if the people there turn out to be just as relentless as the last. “I just want to unwind, experience the city, the sights, the people.”

  The last words come out huskier than intended from my mouth, and I flush, thinking I’m being too daring. To my relief (and slight thrill as well), Cato lets a slow, knowing smile spread over his face.

  “Oh, I’m sure there’d be some wonderful people for you to meet here,” he assures me, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Just need to know where to look.”

  “I think I’m looking in the right direction,” I say, pointedly staring at him. Tiffany is now grinning maniacally, and Alex has gone even more studiously blank than before.

  “Tell me… are you into thrills?” Cato rolls the last word. “I know some great locations to give you just that.”

  My body shivers in anticipation, and I squeeze my legs together to combat the growing discomfit between them. The more I examine Cato, the more I find my mind drifting, exploring possibilities. My eyes go to the soft flesh of his neck, and the pulse ticking there. I follow the perfect curve of his ears, the faint dark stubble on his cheeks, noting how his bottom lip is thicker than mine, and looks almost edible. When my eyes saunter over to Beron as well, I see there’s more there to delight me. Cato’s groomed. Beron’s more untamed, wild, not the kind of person you want to cross.

  “I’m not sure which of you two is more handsome,” I say truthfully, which prompts the bodyguard to list a bushy eyebrow, and grin in a roguish way. Both men have completely different styles. Both which appeal to me in different ways.

  “Me, of course,” Beron grunts, and I see him deliberately flex his arms, in the guise of clasping his hands together. “I look like a real man, compared to this nancy.”

  “You look like you’re carved out of a block of wood,” Cato retorts. “Or an extra from some bad historical show.”

  Beron strokes his dark brown beard, thrusting his chin out for good measure. I’m mesmerized by the movement, and pretend to be examining the table when he glances at me. “At least I don’t look like the kind of character who’ll die in a horror movie. You’d never even make it to the safe house.”

  Before they can continue their back and forth again, Alex cuts in with, “Actually, if this was a horror movie, Cato would be the plot twist serial killer, and Beron would be the red herring, and everyone would expect it to be him.”

  Cato and Beron consider this. “Okay,” Beron says. “But then, out of you three girls, who would survive from the serial killer?”

  “Not me,” Alex says bluntly. “I’m the token black woman, I’d die because the writers don’t know what to do with me after they cast me in the script. Tiffany would probably do something stupid like wander off alone into a room after hearing weird noises coming from it. Roze would spend the whole movie telling people not to do stupid things and then watch them die.”

  “You must watch a lot of terrible movies,” Cato observes, which prompts a grin from me, Alex and Tiffany. The sexual tension is broken for the moment, and I’m happy to keep it at bay. I don’t want to make my friends feel awkward, though my eyes keep straying to their forms. Wondering what it’d be like with either of them, if the opportunity ever arose. Would Cato or Beron be the rough one? Would they like the standard bedroom affair, or would they be into somethi
ng a little more sinful?

  They’re not bound by the constraints of religion, or have gone through the same kind of sexual oppression most of our societies have gone through. It’s supposed to be wild, with them. Unrestrained...

  “We’re not sure what kind of places we should go to,” Tiffany says to them, slightly interrupting my daydreaming. “We have some standard tourist spots marked out, but we’ll miss all the things the locals know and love. And that’s the best part of a trip. Got any suggestions for us?”

  “Oh! There’s so many wonderful places to visit,” Cato says, beaming and rubbing his hands. “Maybe if you have some time, I can always show you around to some of my favorite locations. I mean, if you don’t mind a tour guide.”

  “I’d like that,” I answer, smiling at the enthusiasm behind his words. He’s confident and sure of himself, and to be honest, it might be nice to be shown by a local. We hadn’t planned on it, but it’d certainly feel less like us three bumbling around in a lost, confused manner as we constantly check our Google Maps to make sure we’ve arrived in the right location.

  Two men make their way into the establishment then, and I check them out of perfunctory curiosity. Two more supernatural beings to combat the flood of humans in the bar. They both seem to take their time checking over the bar, standing by the entrance, and I figure they probably want to find an empty table to themselves. There isn’t an empty table, though. Eventually, they leave the bar.

  No one else seems to think anything weird of it. The small talk continues between us as we try to explore each other’s personalities, but it does feel like Beron and Cato are slightly guarded. They’re interested in us (me more, I think, though I don’t want to announce this out loud, because it sounds presumptuous), but they don’t want to put all their cards on the table yet. I can understand that.

  More people come into the establishment. The same two men I spotted earlier, followed by two more. They split into pairs, and lean against the walls. Two more pairs trickle in, and do the same thing. Slight concern needles in my gut when yet another two pairs copy the others. Twelve people, spread out around the walls.

  Like predators circling prey.

  “Hey,” I hiss, as two more pairs come in, “Should we leave? There’s people coming in.” I point them out to Cato and Beron. Cato doesn’t seem bothered, but Beron’s face freezes. Maybe his instincts kicking in.

  “Yeah,” he says. “There’s a lot of humans here.”

  “And? It’s a safe zone,” Cato says, but he’s catching onto Beron’s troubled mood.

  “Obscure neighborhood, not that much security,” Beron growls. “And it is a little near the border of a district that still endorses slavery. Okay ladies, let’s get out –” his voice trails off when two more people come in, and block the exit.

  Now Alex and Tiffany have caught on, and we all realize, along with some of the other patrons in the bar, that we’re boxed in. When the guns start coming out, screams of terror rip from people’s throats, and a gasp escapes mine.

  Pandemonium ensues. Some people try to get up, others hurl abuse. But the gun-wielding supernaturals don’t listen, don’t care. There’s not much anyone can do when nearly twenty guns bristle their way.

  One by one, the humans are jerked to a supernatural with spines upon his head. He appears to prick each human with one of his loosened spines, and they fall unconscious like a light going out.

  “Do you know who I am?” Cato bellows, when two of them grab him, and prick him the same as everyone else.

  “Don’t care,” came the reply, and his fallen body got a kick in the gut for good measure. Beron attempted to put up a resistance, but was cowed by the guns.

  There was no way to fight this. I had to wait, like the rest, for the spine to pierce me, and to feel the painful, rushing tides of blackness yank my brain out of consciousness.

  Chapter 2

  Roze

  Opening my eyes causes intense pain. Everything’s white and a sharp contrast to the blackness of my eyelids. It takes a few moments for me to open my eyes fully, and register the ceiling, where circular bulbs beam down on me like spotlights. I’m in a bed – sanitary clean, with a thin sheet covering my body, and further inspection reveals I’m hooked up to an IV, and my heartbeat is registering on an EKG machine. As soon as I notice that, the beeps quicken, and my anxiety compounds.

  Where am I?

  The last thing I remember is the ambush. An entire bar taken over, intruders slipping in with guns, lining the walls, collectively making the humans mice in mousetraps. I recall how there was nothing we could do. No heroic movie fight, somehow batting away the guns and forcing our way out of there.

  We had to wait for that sleeping poison to spread in our veins. Worse than useless.

  Shifting the sheets a little, I inspect the crude hospital gown I’m wearing, concerned because there’s a dull throbbing on my left side. With thick, clumsy hands, I undo the buttons of my stark white gown, deep enough to see stitches tracking next to my sternum, as if I’d been vivisected.

  Shit, I think, heartbeat almost doubling in that instant. I try to force the calm, doctor’s mask over my thoughts, but it doesn’t work. Have they been probing inside me? I don’t know what else to think, but I let my brain churn, thinking of all the possible reasons I might be here.

  Something tickles at the back of my head. Something new. It feels like an energy source, separate from my body, yet a part of it at the same time.

  With a cold shiver, I remember something I read, back in the days when I wanted to know if humans could obtain magical powers.

  They could: but by a means highly frowned upon in shifter society, and banned in many places. The method requires the bones of a dead magical creature, which have residual magic. Then a necromancer adds some kind of enchant to it, right before it’s placed into a human.

  Necromancy, the one magic universally spat upon, whether you look at it from the human side or the supernatural side.

  I have magic.

  That’s what this energy is. That’s why I’m stitched up like Frankenstein’s monster. They’ve only gone and implanted some dead creature’s bone inside me. My rising panic and beep levels draw attention from elsewhere; a door creaks open, and two people stroll in, wearing surgical masks, gloves and scrubs.

  “Oh, you’re not supposed to be awake yet!” one of them coos in a low, feminine voice, reaching into their pocket to draw out a syringe. A new surge of dread invades my stomach, my soul. “There, there. It’ll be okay.”

  “What the –” I manage to splutter, before I’m grabbed, and the needle’s sinking into the IV drip. Whatever’s in it slips into my bloodstream. Screaming, I flail at them, adrenaline surging, IV stand clattering to the floor. My reactions were already groggy from the start – there’s nothing else to do other than sink again into dreamless darkness.

  Cato

  Three men confer in hasty, worried whispers. I glare at them from my vantage point – a leather chair in a spacious and immaculate office, full of filing cabinets, and the general soulless interior of a cheap medical ward. I tap my foot on the threadbare green carpet, and heft at my chains, again contemplating if I can snap out of them or not.

  “Are any of you going to talk to me or not?” I say, making the leather crackle underneath me. I’m irritated, moody, and hoping one of them will make the mistake of getting too close at the wrong angle. Not that it’ll help. I’m still stuck in the chains, and there’s about four security guys inside and outside this room alone, choking out all opportunities of escape. I’m still inflated with rage at how that lackey from the bar treated me, as if I was slime on the edge of his shoe. I can’t wait to find him and show him just what a mistake he made.

  “Silence, prisoner,” one of the men spits, and I smile fiercely at him. Still dreaming of revenge. I wish I could have transformed. Turned into my dragon and battered the whole lot of them aside with a swipe of my tail. Except there were innocents in that place. And I
doubt that action would bode well for the far more vulnerable targets.

  I had to freeze, like everyone else, but it doesn’t stop me from imagining better, happier scenarios.

  I glare at the guard who snapped at me. “For your own good, I wouldn’t recommend making me a prisoner.” They more or less ignore me, but I can pick up on what’s being said.

  “ – didn’t realize ... a fucking Dagen in that place … fuck he’s doing there – not even his district –”

  “ – can’t let him loose ... lead ‘em us –”

  A fierce debate raged on, alternating between killing me to keep my mouth shut and, ransoming me to my family. To think I was captured by these imbeciles.

  “You might have more success ransoming me,” I agree blithely, and the three gormless idiots stop their bickering to glare at me instead. “But most likely you’ll all end up mysteriously dead over the next few months, because my father really hates kidnappers.”

  “Shut up. Don’t say a word or I’ll knock all your teeth out.” The asshole growling this flexes his muscles. Bear shifter, I think, noting a clan tattoo on his hand, two wavy lines. That might be useful for later. Bears hate hiding their tattoos. It’s one of their more stupid traits.

  I’m trying to get a read on the kind of kidnappers they are. Medical ward atmosphere suggests an illegal research laboratory. Perhaps forced magic auctions, and magical implants. Highly illegal stuff. Given that about 40% of test subjects tend to fail when they have a magic proxy implanted in them, it does tend to carry with it a significant body count.

  They clearly weren’t expecting me to be in that little bar. We were in a tourist district, with a heavy mix of magical and human visitors. If you want to grab humans but don’t want to leave the diplomatic safety of a magical city, then your best bet’s the quirky tourist spots in areas people don’t expect danger from. Just my luck, really. The one time I try to duck out of the limelight, experience life at a more basic level, including talking with interested human tourists – and I’m sucked into the criminal underground, chained up to drown my shifting abilities, while people debate on whether or not to kill me.