Chapter 2

Sloane's POV

Morning.

Cain's still asleep, his posture rigid, like he's ready to jump up at any sign of danger. This is probably the first time in a long while he's been able to close his eyes without fear.

I slip out of bed quietly and head to the front desk to settle the balance.

The clerk handling the paperwork is an elderly leopard shifter. When he sees "gladiator arena reject" on the receipt, he sighs.

"First time buying this type of slave, I take it? Word of advice: don't get your hopes up. The ones from the arena have serious mental and physical damage. They're hard to tame."

"Every year the authorities raid the illegal operations and rescue them. They put them up for adoption for free, but hardly anyone takes them." He shakes his head. "Wolves, bears, leopards, some low-tier magical beasts... they all get put down."

"It's become an industry," I say.

"Exactly. Kidnapping, training, fighting, disposal, then it starts all over again. You saved his life by buying him, but..." He pauses. "Just be careful. Don't let him bite you."

When I get back to the room, Cain's awake.

He sits stiffly on the edge of the bed, and relaxes slightly when he sees me.

"I heard your conversation," he says quietly.

I freeze.

"Do you regret it?" His tail tucks tight against his body. "If you want to give up on me, I can catch that clerk alone and get your money back. Then I'll disappear. Won't cause you any trouble."

I walk over and crouch in front of him.

"I don't regret it. As long as you obey me."

"Only me."

His pupils dilate, his whole body trembling. His tail slowly loosens, and his ears perk up from where they'd been flattened against his head.

"Yes," he whispers, his voice trembling with relief.

I reach out to touch his ears. They immediately flatten back defensively, but then slowly relax again.

"Sorry. Old habit." He lowers his head slightly. "You can touch them now... if you still want to."

I don't hesitate. I sit beside him and run my fingers gently over his ears. There are faint scars on them, rough under my touch. Cain's breathing grows heavier, his body temperature rising, his eyes rimmed with red as he stares at me without blinking.

"Last night..." I pause. "Was it okay?"

He freezes, his face turning crimson.

"You... you want to...?"

"Mm."

"I'll be more careful," he stammers. "I won't... hurt you again..."

The magical clinic is in the wealthy district on the east side of town.

The healer is an elven woman, her expression cool and professional. She examines Cain's injuries, her frown deepening.

"His healing ability is impressive. The whip marks and burns will recover on their own, but the malnutrition and magical exhaustion are severe. He'll need long-term high-grade recovery potions."

She hands me a list.

I glance at the price. Eight hundred gold for one treatment cycle. More than what I paid for Cain.

It's nothing.

The fire magic stone I bought for Tristan cost three thousand gold, and that was just part of his monthly supplies. This amount is pocket change compared to that.

"I don't need it," Cain says suddenly, gripping my hand tightly. "I can survive on anything. You don't need to... spend this much. I won't die."

He says it so calmly, like he's stating a fact.

I guess in his world, "not dying" is the greatest gift he could ask for.

"It's fine." I touch his head. "I can afford it."

The healer prepares the potions, asking casually, "Was he in the arena? These scar patterns... he must have been through quite a few death matches."

Cain goes quiet for a moment. "Yes."

"No wonder he heals so well." She hands me a vial of silver liquid, then frowns. "Though this bite mark on his arm is strange... doesn't look like it came from combat."

Cain's body goes rigid.

"You didn't bite yourself, did you? Gladiators sometimes self-harm when they're in pain or terrified..."

"No," Cain says quietly. "It was last night..."

He glances at me briefly, then drops his gaze.

"I bit myself last night."

"Last night? Were you still in the arena last night?"

"No." His voice drops even lower. "It was... when my master..."

The healer pauses, then seems to understand. An awkward expression crosses her face. She glances at me, says nothing, and turns to prepare the other potions.

I stand there, feeling awkward myself.

By the time we return to the estate, it's late at night.

The manor is silent except for the cold white glow of the magical lamps in the entrance hall. My parents and the servants are asleep. Tristan is probably in Evangeline's room.

Cain follows me inside, stepping carefully through the luxurious estate. His gaze falls on the floor of the entrance hall, where several crimson feathers lie scattered.

"Those are Tristan's," I say, picking one up. "He always leaves his feathers everywhere."

Tristan was my parents' "homecoming gift." Their way of making up for the twenty years I was gone.

I was six when I was taken. Twenty-six when they found me. When I came back to this house, I learned they'd already adopted a baby girl from the church. Evangeline. She's twenty-two now, and she's enjoyed twenty years of their love.

The day I came home, her world fell apart.

She couldn't accept that she was adopted. She threw everything within reach at me. Vases, books, even Father's most precious magical staff.

"I'm their daughter! Why are you trying to steal Mom and Dad from me!"

"Get out, you filthy beggar! Get out of here!"