Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 91631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
I get to work, delicately cleaning around the sculptures without actually picking them up. Sometimes I think the fact that I'm careful with them is the only reason I haven't been “re-gifted” to one of the other nobles that come to visit this place.
The scientist speaks. "I really must protest the constant use of drugging agents on Crulden. We're clearly not getting anywhere with him and drugging him will only exacerbate the problem. The longer he remains under the influence, the more likely he is to become dependent. Studies have shown that splices need constant exercise in order to maintain their metabolisms—"
"You think I don't know that?" Lord Sir says in an icy voice. His displeasure is so evident that it sends a shiver down my spine and I work even faster. "You think I wish to keep him doped up and drooling on my floors when he could be earning me credits? He's impossible to control right now, however, and he'll hurt himself if we lower the dosage."
"Is he food motivated?" the scientist asks.
Lord Sir just snorts, as if the question is stupid. "Crulden is not motivated by anything but cruelty."
Crulden. So that's the big beast's name. Judging from the conversation, he's supposed to be the newest gladiator in the stable. I'm guessing Crulden doesn't like that idea much.
"We'll lose a fortune if we have to put him down," Lord Sir says. "I hired you to come up with a way for me to harness his strength, to make him pliable." He considers for a moment. "What about a female?"
I try not to visibly react.
The scientist snorts. "You've seen the vids of what he's done to the other females. Perhaps rethink that line of thought." He glances over at me as I hastily give the sculptures a cursory dust and decide I'll go over them later, when no one's around. "I'm surprised you keep a human out in the open."
Lord Sir sighs, as if very aggrieved. "What am I supposed to do with it? It was a gift."
His friend snorts. "Kef it? That's what everyone does with humans."
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I've been relatively safe so far, but that's because I do my best to make myself utterly forgettable, and Lord Sir hasn't been interested in me. But if this idiot keeps pointing that out, I'm afraid things will change. I want to grab my little cleaning cart and ram it up the scientist's heavily bandaged tail.
"It was a tasteless gift from an old friend, Lady dra’Niiron," Lord Sir says, his dry voice full of displeasure. "She asks about it every now and then, so I can't exactly get rid of it. I keep it here instead of at home, but as long as she's not too bothersome, I just ignore her and make sure she's fed."
Jesus, he makes me sound like an unwanted Christmas puppy. In his eyes, I guess I am. It could be worse—it could always be worse—but I do wish there was some sort of stability to my life. One wrong move, or if Lord Sir gets tired of me, I'm going to be sold to a stranger.
Time to discreetly get the fuck outta Dodge.
Luckily for me, another crash echoes from the gladiator's room and the two men let out another groan. Thank god for distractions. I slip out the servants’ door again, heading down the hall to where the new, feral gladiator is chambered. Sure enough, he's out of his bed and attacking everything in sight, ripping the newly reinstalled sink back out of the wall. Water sprays everywhere. Today there's no plant to make a disaster on the floors, but the blanket I thoughtfully left for him is shredded into a million pieces and he's busy ripping at everything he can.
I park my cart outside the door of his cell and wait for his tantrum to be done.
The male turns and looks at me. I suppose if I didn't deal with terrifying aliens of all kinds every single day, I'd probably be a bit more scared of him. As it is, I'm mostly irritated. I'm far more scared of the two men sitting in that office with all the crystalline sculptures, casually talking about fucking me as if I'm no more than a blow-up doll.
Gladiator having a tantrum? I've seen that shit far too many times. So I cross my arms over my chest and wait.
He stalks up to the window, as if suddenly realizing I'm here, and our eyes meet through the glass. A feral smile curves his hard, cruel mouth and his nostrils flare, as if he's sniffing me. I continue to wait, keeping my expression bored. I know that showing fear in front of one of these idiots is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. He can't get through this glass, or he already would have. I'm safe.