Socha listened with a cold ear to the scroll Dac read her. It was always such, before every sale, before every new master touched her flesh. A slave from birth she had many years to learn that to speak out against the edict of her place by the dǽmons was to die. All she did now was sneer in her mind at the injustice of it. Sure, she was good at what she did, even craved it, but she wanted the choice to be hers.
To be owned, a slave to someone, was not some glorified thing to her at all, no matter how many times the prick read the scroll to her. Arian she may be, dumb she was not. There was no way his pathetic kind was going to make her believe she was some sniveling kitty who could only serve to mimic one of their own kind’s sacrifice. She was the last of her kind, as far as she knew, and so she truly didn’t know if her people had always been under dǽmon control or not, or even if they had truly worshiped Arï and were his slaves. She didn’t care a bit one way or the other.
She was nobody’s slave, and she’d be damn if she’d let someone brainwash her into thinking she was. All she had to remember her people by was a singular amulet that hung around her neck on a thin gold chain. The rock of her homeland encased in an amber substance was also the mark of her place. Within the little, insignificant rock was her binding spell. She could never touch the amulet with the intention to remove it or it would burn her hands. Trying to remove it had proved a chore as well when the long dangling chain suddenly was small enough to tighten on her throat. She understood quickly she would never be free of it and the physical reminder of her servitude was sickening to say the least.
Let Dac have his fun, she thought as he rolled the scroll slowly between his fingers and left her in the stinking cage behind the curtain. She growled in her throat, she’d kill him one day. She was sure of it. She wanted to be free, wanted to make her own decisions in life, go the way the tide took her. Being a dǽmon’s pet was no frickin’ walk in the park. She sighed then, closing her eyes trying to exhale the anger.
Yes, she longed for more. She longed for love. Longed to be more than a slave that knew how to bring utter pleasure to whosoever her master should be. She longed to feel a lover’s caress that was more than desire for the flesh of her bones that had no choice but to be the best he, or she for that mater, ever tasted. She was Arïan nonetheless. It was not vanity. It was simple truth. For three centuries she had held the title. Three long centuries of lovers whose faces she no longer remembered, whose cries she no longer could hear. All she longed for was a mate, a mate who would give her what her heart craved, what she craved. Set her free.
She was a child of the Moon. An immortal that did not walk the earth upon only two legs and the tigress in her roared for the mate it needed. She shook her head, her black and white stripped hair shifting over the small of her back like a tongue on the nipple. The skin of a lecvi was ever so sensitive. It was what made her so wanted, that and being the only one of her variety. Other kinds there were. She had seen a few of Dac’s other pretties, some lower dǽmons who had broken some law and were indentured for a time in his care. Others she had seen were mortal, and she had at one time envied their finite life. They could escape when she could not. But death was not what she longed for, at least not her own. And being of the feline variety was not the only thing that had made her priceless and her servitude that much longer.
She was a receptor as well. She lost herself into the very act of the sensual like a drug. She could not help it. In moments of fingers on her flesh she was panting for more. She closed her golden eyes away from the thought, her blood rising to the surface with just the action. A lecvi may have been released after five centuries or so, the want drawing thin and her power grown too much to really control anymore. But a receptor, no that meant the entire world. Everything dealing with the flesh was her specialty and she could bring anyone to their knees, and most of the time she didn’t even try. It was as if her very flesh could read what they wanted, what they needed and complete it with little direction. Just the simple act of pleasing her partner was pure ecstasy for her, and, more oft then not, her partners were ruined for any after her. She was priceless, if she would use the cliché term on herself.
She gritted her teeth again, frickin’ priceless. She looked around herself for the hundredth time since being transported to this cage in a futile attempt to ferret out some chance of escape. She was faced with the same “no” as before. The gilded concentrated silver of her cage held her powers in check and she could do nothing more than quiver on her small cot in the darkness. All she had to cover her sensitive flesh was her hair as she moved to ball up into herself. No escape, no freedom, and no body to loose herself in so that her worries of today melted away. For all her life, though linked to the gods themselves, she had been linked more to the animal in her. As a lecvi she was nothing but cattle that could be bartered to the highest bidder. She tried to ignore the catch in her breath at the thought.
“Ah, kitty, kitty, open up for me, yea? Prince Teric will want to see the pretty present I have brought for him.” Dac, her handler, hit the cage hard with a cane, one she had felt more times then she wanted to recall. The sound made her jump instinctively into a crouch. “There, let him see that pretty pussy,” he laughed, amused at his own pun. She growled at him, deep in her throat. She did not like being on show, didn’t like being bartered like choice meat. He knew it. The arrogant gleam in his beady little black eyes royally pissed her off. He rubbed his fingers over his long black beard as he chuckled. She never liked the cruel tilt to his thin lipped smile. She always knew it was trouble for her.
