Page 24 of Fangs

The four Masters stand before their thrones like a pack of wolves deciding which lamb to slaughter first.

Thomas steps forward, his voice carrying across the hall.

“Lucy, the new girl, misbehaved last night. She left her room when explicitly ordered to stay. Such disobedience requires discipline.”

My blood turns to ice. Every eye in the room finds me. The masters watch with cold amusement. The girls stare with a mixture of pity, morbid curiosity and selfish relief that it is not their name spoken.

Cain crosses the distance between us in three strides,. He stops in front of me. A thin black leash dangles from his fingers. He loops the leather collar around my throat and snaps the buckle closed. The material sits snug against my skin, still warm from his hands, a public brand of ownership.

He yanks it, and I stumble forward, my hands flying to my throat. My black doll shoes scrape the marble. The short crimson skirt flutters with every forced step. Whispers rise on both sides of the long table. I keep my chin level even though heat climbs my neck in a furious wave. Don’t look down. Do not let them see how easily they can strip you of dignity.

By the time I reach the thrones, my pride is in shreds.

Thomas leans down until his lips nearly brush my ear. His voice is soft enough that only I can hear it, yet the entire hall seems to lean closer.

“Cain is your Master. You enjoyed watching me with Mag so much. Now you will do the same with Cain.”

Heat floods my face so fast it stings. “No.”

His smile is thin. “Your father. Your cottage. Your own life. All of them remain at risk if you refuse. Kneel.”

I stay upright. My knees lock. My hands curl into fists at my sides until the nails bite my palms.

He lists the consequences again, quieter, more detailed. The debt that still hangs over the cottage like a noose. The stone quarries that would kill my father in weeks. The auction that would sell me to men far worse than the ones standing above me. Each word lands like a stone dropped into still water, the ripples spreading through every nerve.

My knees finally fold.

I sink to the floor in front of Cain. The marble is cold through the thin white stockings. I lift my hand toward the front of his trousers, fingers trembling, already reaching for the belt the way Mag reached for Thomas.

Cain’s fingers close around my wrist before I can touch the fabric.

“A good pet never raises a hand to her Master,” he says, loud enough for every corner of the hall to hear. “She waits for the order to play. That is your first lesson. When you are sold, you need know it.”

Laughter rolls across the dais.

“She was really going to do it,” one Master draws out, clearly amused. “Right here at breakfast. In front of the entire household.”

“Naughty,” another murmurs.

“Little pervert,” Thomas adds, almost fond.

Even the other girls laugh. The sound scrapes along my nerves like sandpaper. Shame burns hotter than the collar around my throat. I want the floor to open and swallow me whole.

Cain keeps the leash short and guides me on my knees the remaining distance to the base of his throne, behind a huge breakfast table. I follow. My body obedient even as my mind screams. He sits, spreading his legs, and I am positioned between them.

“Sit.”

I settle onto my heels, my knees pressed together. Head resting against the hard muscle of his thigh.

He reaches for a piece of bread, tearing off a small morsel and holds it to my lips, I hesitate.

“Eat,” he says, and his voice is not kind.

I open my mouth. The bread touches my tongue. He feeds me like a pet, piece by piece, and each bite is a fresh humiliation.

The quiet scrape of my teeth, the act of swallowing under their eyes, the way Cain’s fingers briefly brush my lower lip before withdrawing—each detail etches itself into my skin. Humiliation cracks open inside my chest. Beneath the crack a strange, unwanted peace settles: the quiet of being claimed, of having every choice stripped away for a little while. I hate the peace as much as I hate the collar.

When the meal ends the Masters remain seated. Servants clear plates around us with careful silence.