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Tales Of Morveria: Scars of a Wounded Warrior

Social Commentary in Romantic Form

Characters & Story by Mantrid Brizon

Basic Concept by catsithx

Part One: Homecoming

Climbing from her bed, the slender brunette sits on the edge, yawns and stretches. Glancing toward a window, she can see a powerful beam of light piercing the space between the closed wooden shutters. It’s unusually bright. Aghast, she leaps from her bed and races across the floor, her bare feet pattering atop the cold, stone tiles. With eyes wide, she pulls the shutters open to see that the sun is already nearly a hand width into the sky!

“Oh, no! If I’m late for work again, I may be out of a job!” She exclaims.

Hastily changing her clothes from a simple night robe, which wraps around her form, Celia pulls on an equally humble chemise before slipping on her sandals. Though typically an undergarment, her limited income sees her wearing it as her primary. The circumstances of her life are such that even a basic kirtle, the most common garment for both men and women, is too costly for her. She pulls open her cupboard to find any hardtack, but it’s gone. Had she eaten it the night before or have the mice stolen it?

With a frustrated sigh she collects a tiny pouch on a string, her purse, and hangs it around her neck. Celia, a typically vivacious twenty-two-year-old woman, makes her way toward the front door of her humble apartment. Constructed of sandstone and reinforced with rough wooden beams, it’s in dire need of repair. The cheap, three-story structure is built in the ancient fashion as a cost-saving measure. She latches the wooden door behind her and checks that the old lock has worked this time, then makes her way down the steps and toward the thoroughfare.

She dodges the mules and horses which pull the simple wagons, passes the beggars, jumps over a pile of manure and then turns a corner as she makes her way toward the market bazaar. As a young and attractive woman, she’s often hassled by the dregs of society who live in the impoverished area of town around her. She wouldn’t have to live there at all if she was still married. Divorce is not a common thing, and to be fair, she may not be divorced at all. Women do not often leave their parent’s home until they’ve married, as Celia had done, but her husband of five years has betrayed her.

After suffering two miscarriages, one quite late into her pregnancy, and then enduring the added shame of her husband’s adulterousness, she awoke one morning to find him gone. He simply vanished! She hasn’t seen nor heard from him in two seasons. After his disappearance, she couldn’t afford the small house he’d left her, and though a peasant and serf, she had few skills beyond manual labor. It wasn’t long before she lost her home to debt and was forced into the street. Now she must work every day just to make ends meet.

Thankfully, she’s attained a job that pays well enough. So long as she can last at least the first month, there’s hope for her to save and rebuild her life. It’s the best opportunity she has. After a considerable walk, buying her breakfast of a small, day-old loaf of bread in the market, the young woman nears the doors to her workplace. The tall and sprawling complex has a long staircase leading inside. Many pillars in the ancient style support the peaked roof. This is the ‘Temple of the Companions’. Though it’s called a temple, it’s little more than a fancy name for a very private and unique business.

Run by the Bennett family, the oldest and wealthiest family dynasty in the whole of Morveria, the Temple of the Companions collects and even breeds beast folk of every race. They choose the healthiest baby girls with the most attractive fur or skin colors. Though some temples also collect male children, keeping them segregated in separate buildings, this is a regional exception to the rule. These children are then raised in the temple and given the finest of educations. It’s more than any human peasant could afford.

They learn the human’s language as their native tongue, thereby eliminating their ability to mingle with other beast folk should they ever attempt to escape; the rest of their kin often learn Hitrosii from their parents. Though the beast folk do not possess minds capable of comprehending writing, they memorize songs and poetry, learn to dance and sing, and even play musical instruments, often becoming proficient with several. They’re even coached on history and politics, to better fit in with the temple’s clientele.

Upon reaching puberty, their primal beasts begin to emerge and so they’re made to wear chastity belts, colloquially called “the master’s undergarments.” During this period of their lives, they’re trained in other skills, including aromatherapy, the adjustment of joints and massage of all forms. Finally, when adulthood is near, they’re thoroughly educated in the arts of carnal pleasure, through diagrams and lectures, and without ever having been allowed to lose their virginity. Purity increases their value.

Once they’re primed, ready, and have reached adulthood, the Companions are prepared for a life beyond the temple, being given lessons on the inner workings of human society. This is the final phase of their training. Upon certification, they’re offered to the temple's patrons, who gladly pay extravagant sums for the most beautiful entertainers and concubines that Morveria has ever seen. Years of training ensures that every human who buys a Companion is never dissatisfied, and as all of their clients are wealthy, influential and often of nobility, it’s best to ensure their satisfaction.

Many have owned beast folk of both genders, even the lower classes. Slavery has been an institution in many kingdoms for thousands of years. Many masters have consorted with their beast folk slaves or even offered them to clients as prostitutes. This is also a common occurrence, despite varying legality, and many a man and woman have paid for the pleasures of the flesh, ravaging or being ravaged by one of the beast folk for a copper or silver zakian, depending on cleanliness and quality.

The Temple of the Companions, however, is a vastly different entity, and for this reason they’re one of the largest, most prestigious and most prosperous businesses in Morveria. Only the ‘Unfettered’, the emasculated warriors and the most fearsome mercenaries available for hire, can compete with the temple for the prestige of largest private business. Making her way up the long steps, Celia sees a very familiar face. Nesta, her boss, stands at the top of the stairs with a wooden board and a piece of chalk.

She’s the manager of this temple, one of thousands, and watches the employees entering. It’s a policy that each temple is segregated by gender; only human women work to sell females, and it is one of the more prestigious and well-paying jobs that an unmarried lady may possess. All but a few employees have already arrived and entered the complex. If Celia makes haste, maybe Nesta won’t notice her tardiness? She dashes up the steps to try and blend in with the others who lag behind, but they’re quite a distance ahead of her.

Passing her boss with her head bowed, the older woman with long hair the color of raven's feathers gives her a little nod and a smile.

“Good morning, Celia.” Nesta greets her and makes a mark beside her name.

“Good morning, ma’am.” She nods back.

“You almost didn’t make it... Again...” Nesta remarks with annoyance in her voice.

“I’m on time!” Celia replies.

“I know...” Nesta narrows her eyes and scans her from head to toe. “See that you continue to arrive on time... Or I may have to find a replacement...”

“Yes, ma’am.” Celia bows her head.

Entering the temple, Celia no longer marvels at its beauty. The tall pillars of marble, the long velvet rugs and even the beautiful mosaics and ceiling paintings, many of which depict nude or partially dressed beast women, some even engaging in sexual acts with human men. It’s all ceased to be a wondrous sight and is now simply her workplace. Entering a dressing room, the other ladies have already finished changing. Temple employees must wear a very specific uniform, meant to evoke a particular aesthetic, harkening back to a supposedly romantic era from a bygone day.

Removing her chemise and sandals, Celia brushes any dust and burs from her nude body and pubic hair before wiping her skin with a damp cloth from the bucket of scented water, which all of the women share. She then slips into her uniform, a pair of soft and elegant cloth slippers, and a dress. It’s an ancient and revealing style of dress from the warmer regions, commonly worn over a thousand years ago. It clings to her slender frame in a flattering manner, the straps spreading to allow for cleavage as they hang off of her shoulders. It displays too much for her liking.

She ensures a snug fit on her slippers, pulling a finger around her ankles, then presses her dress against her feminine form to remove any wrinkles before fluffing the bottom hem and giving her legs more room to walk. With her uniform donned and a feigned smile on her face, Celia begins her daily routine. By chance, she has one of the more prestigious jobs in the temple, and it pays well enough to support her in the wake of her husband’s disappearance, if she can only persevere and save her income.

It’s in these moments, right before she starts working, that she reflects on her decision to marry him, and how right her parents were about her husband. Though he was always immature, she was certain that he would grow with time. Clearly, she was mistaken, and now must labor for the error of her ways. With a scroll of parchment left in a bin beside her uniform, Celia collects it and reads the list. As a prestigious and expensive establishment, the clients often schedule appointments by letter or a servant-runner; very few can enter without previous notice.

With list in-hand, she heads for the front of the building and greets the men. Some are quite handsome and young, while others are aged and less than appealing to her eyes. It’s in these moments that she cannot help but feel a bit of pity for the Companions. They’re so well trained, so competent and so beautiful that they should really go to those more deserving, not just those with the most wealth! She greets a designated client, assigned to her by a superior, and leads him to a room where he may begin the viewing.

However, before he’s allowed to witness the women who are for sale, there are some legal documents that need attention. Celia collects a thick stack of paperwork from a storage desk in a corner of the room and sets it atop a table, along with a quill and inkwell. She then separates them into two sheets and a large stack to the right of the table, as is her routine. Apparently, this client is either a return customer whom she fails to recognize or a new customer who was warned about this process by another, as the stack of paperwork does not startle him in the least.

As is the norm for many, he signs the two lone papers as well as the paper at the top of the stack without ever reading them. Had he even been listening when she explained what they were? With this portion dealt with, Celia stands by as they carry out a line-up. He chooses the most popular of the two options, bringing all of the potentials into the room at once. He examines the women closely, which they happily allow. He judges their breasts by size and plumpness, feeling the firmness of their buttocks and examining their waist-to-hip ratio by sliding his hands along their sides.

All are superb examples of the female form, but one in particular catches his eye. After finding a most appealing Vostii of the mouse-kin, a short, dainty creature with a slender build and small but plump breasts, he begins the purchasing process. Celia marks the unchosen on a small piece or parchment while an unseen associate ushers the beast women back to their rooms. It has always been company policy to tally trends in the market. He casually pays for the beast woman with two ruby and one amber sen’kamen, together worth as much as a man’s purse full of large golden zakians.

Celia locks his currency into a sturdy box, which also contains more paperwork. She stamps a bill of sale onto a blank piece of parchment, which the client then signs. Once again, he doesn’t so much as glance at the paper. All he wants is the key to the mouse woman’s chastity belt, and as a younger and more attractive customer, the Vostii is likely very eager for him to remove it as well. Once she’s finished with this client, she watches the man and his new concubine departing the temple, before being tasked with serving another.

This time, she works with a short, fat and balding man with chubby cheeks and a crooked-toothed smile. ‘That poor beast woman’ she thinks to herself as she leads the man into a vacant viewing room. Despite his lowly appearance, this man is a noble of particular wealth and power. To her surprise, when it comes time to issue the paperwork, he’s oblivious to the process. How does he not know?! She was certain that a man such as he would have a small harem of Companions at his manor.

Does he actually receive sex from a willing wife?! Perhaps he consorts with lowly slaves, who till his fields and serve at his table? Before the Bennett family founded the Temple of the Companions, that was a common occurrence, and in many rural places things likely haven’t changed. In any case, Celia explains the paperwork, as she was trained. This time, the client actually listens.

“There are two options for viewing a line-up. You may see the women all at once or one at a time.”

“One at a time is fine.” He replies, to her surprise.

“Alright. A few rules. You are not to touch the girls unless they approach and offer it, which many might. Do not become too exploratory. Proper sexual acts are forbidden. However, as the master’s undergarments will not be removed until after purchase, it won’t even be possible. I’m required to warn you, regardless. If they’re receptive, you may kiss them, touch everything except their genitals, and also receive oral pleasure.” Celia dryly explains, as she’s done a thousand times before.

“Oh, my! Oral pleasure?! Does that happen often?!” The pudgy man asks, a look of surprise on his face.

“No... These are Companions, not prostitutes. They may be beast women, but they have a certain standard, as do we. As before, I’m required to say that.” She replies.

“Oh... Alright. I’ve now heard the rules. May we begin?”

“First, I have a few things for you to sign...”

Celia makes her way to a storage desk in the corner and collects a stack of papers as well as quill and ink. She sets the stack on a table near his viewing chair, then collects two sheets from the top and sets them to the side, leaving the huge stack to the right.

“This first sheet is our return policy... There isn’t one. We require a signature of acceptance here...” She begins, pointing at a dotted line near the bottom of the leftmost paper.

“Alright!” The rotund man chirps, dipping the quill into ink before signing his name.

“This next sheet is our health and wellness guarantee...” She continues, tapping her fingernail above the dotted line of the middle paper. “It states that the Temple of the Companions has ensured the physical health of the women we are offering, that all are guaranteed virginal and therefore free of disease, and that none are purebred, as inbreeding is known to cause health issues. It also states that their mental well-being has been seen to, and that upon leaving the temple with your purchase, any and all heath issues you may or may not encounter are your responsibility.”

“Okay...” The noble raises an eyebrow but signs his name, regardless.

“And this stack is our liability clause. In the event that you anger any of the Companions to the point that they should attack, before or after purchase, the Temple of the Companions is not responsible for any injuries or death... You only need to sign the top sheet!” Celia chirps.

She loves seeing the expressions on the faces of the rich and powerful upon hearing this. Most would scoff at such an agreement, were it not for the fact that the Temple of the Companions is owned and operated by the Bennett family. So vast is their wealth and so strong is their influence that even a king would bow his head and sign his name without protest. Better to comply than defy a Bennett.

“Why is it so thick?!” The noble asks, rather than refuse or complain.

“It’s a complete list of all potential wounds she might inflict...” Celia lifts a corner of the stack and rapidly flicks through them with a thumb. “... These are beast women we’re offering! A Vostii’s claws could open your throat, a Korutan could throw you across the room or kick you flat against the wall, and then there are the Sabaarii...” She shudders. “All those sharp teeth...”

“...”

“Sign...” She sighs with frustration.

The noble does as instructed, and then the viewing begins. He examines roughly a dozen beast women from the comfort of his chair, never once attempting to touch or fondle them, as many others do. Instead, he asks them simple and seemingly unimportant questions before asking to see the next woman. He eventually settles on a recently available female. Masika, a Vostii of the cat-kin, is a rather short female who happens to have the largest breasts that Celia has ever seen, with the exception of the extremely tall and imposing Korutan of the horse and zebra-kin. Their busts are often impressive.

Before making the purchase, the noble asks for another employee who carries out a request. The employee returns and the noble introduces his son as the true customer. The young, tall and very handsome man enters the viewing room, to the shock of both women. It’s the young man who has the final say. However, his father knows his son very well, having chosen the perfect companion for his heir. Masika and the noble’s son are instantly drawn to each other, hypnotized by the other’s features.

Celia has never seen such a perfect match between a Companion and her master! Most Companions are too eager to live outside of the temple to fret over who buys them. This is different. If she didn’t know better, she’d call what she sees between Masika and the noble’s son ‘love at first sight’. The noble pays for Masika while his son signs the bill of sale, making him the rightful owner. Celia gives him the keys to Masika’s chastity belt and the trio depart.

“Lucky...” Celia mutters to herself as Masika is taken home by her new, young master.

Two down, a dozen more to go. After a long day of work, Celia returns her uniform to her wooden cubby and collects her own clothes. The walk home is long and by the time she returns her feet are often quite sore. It’s not a terrible job; if she can only save a little longer, she’ll be able to afford a better place to live, and in an area closer to her work. Upon climbing the rickety steps to her front door, she checks the lock to find that it’s still intact. No burglaries this night! Things are looking up!

As she pushes the door open, however, she hears a faint noise. Glancing at her feet, a note has fallen from somewhere. It must’ve been wedged between the door and the frame, and in the darkness, she couldn’t see it. Picking up the note, she heads inside and locks herself in. Using a candle for light, she breaks the plain wax seal and unfolds the message.

“Dear Celia,

I hope you’re doing well. Your mother and I have been very concerned for you since your husband (may he rot in hell) disappeared. We understand your reluctance to move back home, and wish you the very best. However, we must ask you for a favor. Your uncle, Emory, has retired from his service in the King’s army. Though he’s a young man, only a decade older than you, I fear for the well-being of my baby brother. He lives in your city, and if my memory serves, he’s in a house not far from your apartment. We would appreciate it if you would move in with him, where you will be safer and where someone can keep a watchful eye on him. He hasn’t been himself since the war. We’ve already written him and confirmed his willingness to bring you into his home. Please, Celia, for once, listen to your father.”

With a frustrated sigh, Celia crumples the letter and tosses it aside.

“Great! Please, Adonai, in your Holy name, can I have reprieve?!” She cries out to the sky.

Sitting at her little table in her hovel of a home, Celia turns her hazel eyes toward the crumpled letter. She recalls her uncle Emory, and how he behaved the last time she’d seen him. He was always a kind and jovial man. Perhaps this won’t be so bad? Perhaps living with him will bring levity? Perhaps staying in his home will allow her to save more money?! This could be another golden opportunity to repair her life! Another thought suddenly crosses her mind. What if he’s wounded? What if she needs to take care of him like a child?!

Despite the horror of these latter thoughts, she knows in her heart that she cannot decline. She wouldn’t. It’s not in her nature, just as she couldn’t abandon her husband after his first “mistake”. Making her way across the room, she picks up the letter, flattens it out and then lovingly folds it.

“The things I do for my family...” She sighs.

Part Two: Dissolution

Opening the front door, a muscular man looks down at the shorter, dainty and wide-eyed woman.

“H-hi.” She sheepishly begins, lifting up a hand to wave but keeping it still.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Celia... You’re niece! Don’t you remember?!”

“Oh... You look different.”

“It’s been a few years, uncle Emory... May I enter?”

Emory steps aside, granting her entry. With her head on a swivel, Celia scans her surroundings as she heads for the nearest chair. It’s not a hovel, as her apartment was, though it appears unclean. Bowls and plates and cups are of cheap wood and clay, and are strewn about the table. His clothes do not appear to be washed. His face has a thin beard with uneven patches. It’s not a style, he’s simply failed to shave for several weeks. She cannot help but notice that her uncle is as disheveled as his home.

She takes a seat in a chair beside his kitchen table and pulls a finger across the surface. A thick layer of dust coats the tip of her finger, which she hastily blows away. She examines the walls of grey stone, the paint chipping in some places and faded in others. A suit of soldier’s armor sits on a shelf, propped against the wall in a haphazard display. Her uncle closes the front door and shuffles his feet as he walks past her. He moves in an odd way, heading for a stove but meandering as if he cannot maintain his balance.

“Uncle Emory? Are you alright?”

“Just tired... I don’t sleep well at night anymore.”

“Oh...”

As she continues her examination, she notes that the interior of his home is as unkempt as the exterior. His house needs cleaning and painting, and portions of the walls could use fresh plaster to repair small chips and cracks. Unfortunately, its current state fits the surroundings. The area was once middle-class, home to merchants from the market bazaar and those of some means, and while many of such standing still reside there, a more unsavory type has begun to appear.

Those with the wealth to do so often flee before crime and poverty overwhelms their neighborhood. As a skilled craftsman, a carpenter who once made a considerable living by fashioning high quality and ornate furniture, Emory should be able to do the same. Why does he linger?

“Ahem... Uncle Emory?” She clears her throat.

“Just ‘Emory’... I’m not that old yet, and ‘uncle’ sounds old.”

“Sorry...”

“... Well?!” He suddenly snaps.

“Are you well?”

“Just tired...” He repeats his previous answer.

Emory moves with a sluggishness that she doesn’t remember him possessing, bringing a pot of something that smells like stew toward the table. Leaning forward and glancing inside, it looks more like fish paste with chunks of a meat-like substance. Picking up a bowl, he first blows the dust out of it before pouring food into it and presenting it to her. He then plops the pot in front of him and sticks a wooden spoon inside.

“...”

“Aren’t you hungry?” He asks, looking up from his meal.

“I ate before I left...”

Her uncle continues to eat in silence, and it’s then that she notices a little scar on his left cheek. Glancing around the room as she contemplates what to say, to break the stillness in the air, her eyes land upon his armor. From the light of a window, she can see that the armor was placed with more care than she’d originally thought. A strange dent in the breastplate catches her eye, a concave and uniform bend, like a crater. Was he in a battle?! Is that his armor or did it belong to another soldier?!

“Unc-, err... Emory?” She begins.

“Yes?”

“Whose armor is that?” She asks, pointing a dainty finger.

Emory stares daggers at her but doesn’t speak a word. After a tense pause, he continues eating his meal. The awkward moment eventually passes, around the time her uncle has finished eating. Moving in utter silence, he shows her around his home. If it were maintained it would be worth a considerable sum, but Emory doesn’t seem to have the will nor the energy. It’s as if he’s aged by two decades, surpassing her own father, and yet outwardly he is muscular, handsome and doesn’t look a day over twenty, despite his age of thirty-two years.

Emory leaves her to her own devices, in a bed chamber with only two furnishings, a wooden bedframe and platform with no mattress, and an empty nightstand. After stashing her meager belongings in the nightstand and collecting the materials to make her mattress, she sleeps early and leaves for work even earlier. As she leaves, she tells her uncle that she’d slept too early and has nothing else to do. He never asks nor seems to care, and yet her words were a lie. In truth, she simply wanted to be away from the dreary home.

For the next few weeks, Celia works her job as she always does. By chance, Emory’s house is somewhat closer to the temple than her old apartment and the unsavory types are at least gentlemen, in a bizarre and roguish way. They leave her alone after only two days of sexual harassment, then nod and smile on every subsequent day. Perhaps they’ve accepted her as one of them and not merely a visiting outsider? In an effort to make her life as comfortable as possible, Celia decides to clean and maintain Emory’s home, to the best of her ability.

After all, he’s yet to ask her for anything and he so willingly gives her room and board. It’s the least she can do. It’s then that she realizes the truth. Something is terribly wrong with Emory, something she cannot see. At night he struggles to sleep and is often awake and pacing the house in silence or exercising. He performs simple exercises, the kind she’s seen from soldiers, almost as if it were an impulse. However, in the daylight hours and on her days off, when she actually spends time at home, Celia hears him crying out in his sleep. Exhaustion eventually claims even him.

He calls out to an “Odo” and whimpers and whines. When he awakens drenched in sweat, he struggles to breathe. On one occasion he raced to his chamber pot to vomit. Oftentimes, he resumes his pacing or drops to the floor to impulsively exercise. His problems do not stop there, as Celia witnessed him struggling to perform simple household tasks. It’s as if he’d forgotten how. Once, when he caught her cleaning his shelves, he asked her to move away from the armor in a most polite manner. She did and he approached.

Upon touching it, however, he had a strange episode. He was short of breath, struggled to maintain balance and gripped his chest. What could this be?! What troubles him so?! How can she help?! His problems are such a hindrance that he struggles to even earn a living, which explains the poor state of his home. Much of his income is a combination of saved wealth, from his days as a successful carpenter, and a small monthly pension received for his service to the king. Though he never shares the exact amount, the obviously meager pension offends Celia. Beggars earn more zakians for doing nothing!

When Emory attempts to work with wood, a skill he once so enjoyed, he struggles. Grasping a blade of any kind, even a saw or drawknife, make his hands shake and eyes water. This also explains the lack of knives in his home; Celia had to purchase her own, simply to cook, a task that she’s also begun to assist him with. As the weeks turn into months, she learns the truth. Celia’s heart aches for her uncle. He’s less and less an imposing and brooding figure, and increasingly a pitiful and damaged man.

The only thing that hurt her more than seeing him in such a state was discovering how he and many other veterans of the King’s army are treated. Aside from their meager pension, for which none of the former soldier’s complain, they receive absolutely no benefits. If they cannot find work, even due to injury, too bad! Upon conversing with a few of the beggars, Celia was horrified to discover that they were, in fact, veterans. What a disgrace! Something must be done about this! Something must be done to help her uncle!

After witnessing another episode, Celia began to think. Some of the veterans had adjusted far better than others, but why? It was then that she realized that all of these veterans had families. While they were not “normal” when compared to regular citizens, they were certainly handling their lives outside of the King’s army better than Emory and so many others. Perhaps that was what Emory needed? Perhaps a companion would make all the difference? She couldn’t and wouldn’t ever fill that role, not in the way he requires.

“Where can I find him a proper companion? Someone to help ground him, someone who can care for him but who will also grow with him, in a deep and mutually beneficial relationship...” She thinks to herself. “Wait... A Companion!”

Her eyes light up. Who would be better for these men than the Companions?! Her naivety is quickly smacked across the face by reality. Companions are obscenely expensive! If her uncle repaired and then sold his home, he might be able to afford one, but then where would they live? How would he provide for her? Would she even want to be with a man of his standing, regardless of his physical and emotional attentiveness? After all, she’s been bred and trained for a life servicing nobility. She might very well run away...

“It’s not fair...” Celia sighs and places her head in her hands. “Why must everything revolve around money? Why is it that good people suffer because they cannot afford proper care, while the wealthy can but don’t even deserve it?!”

Unable to think of any other way to help her uncle, as other methods have failed, Celia prepares herself for a difficult conversation. After days of preparation and practice, she waits until her shift has ended before approaching Nesta. Her boss’ eyes grow wide at the request, her lips curling with a mixture of shock and amusement.

“Is this a joke?! Surely, you cannot be serious!”

“Please...” Celia drops to a knee, placing her clasped hands atop Nesta’s desk. “There are many Companions that are not sold quickly. Some linger in the temples for months and even years waiting for a master! I know of five women in our temple who’ve been available for purchase for many, many months and are now nearly nineteen! They’re the oldest Companions still here, already labeled ‘unwanted’!”

“That doesn’t change who they are! There’s a customer who will pay for them, eventually!” Nesta retorts.

“When?! In another six months? Perhaps a year? That’s a hefty sum just to feed and care for them! If you let but one of the unsold Companions go at even half-price, that would allow you to house the other four for many more months at no cost! Think of the savings!”

“... You practiced this little speech, didn’t you?” Nesta narrows her eyes.

“As many as four or five hundred beast women are kept in our compound until they can be sold, and yet these five have been overlooked by every single customer... I’m only asking for you to show some generosity. Let one of the unwanted live with one of the abandoned.”

Celia feels her own eyes watering at her speech, and yet Nesta appears completely unmoved!

“... No!” She finally replies.

“Please?! Even a twenty-five percent discount would allow me to help him buy one!” Celia begs.

“Absolutely not! This isn’t a charity! I cannot just give your uncle a Companion, even at discount. He doesn’t get special treatment just because he’s had a tough time in the King's army. Soldiers know the risks when they join, and they suffer the consequences of their own actions...”

“... How can you be so cold?!”

“This is the Temple of the Companions! Let’s not glorify this. I’m merely managing a store, a very exclusive, prestigious and unique store that is owned and operated by the Bennett’s, the wealthiest family in all of Morveria! I don’t have the time or energy for ‘compassion’, and I certainly don’t have the authority...” Nesta scoffs. “Now, if you’re done annoying me, go home and get to sleep. I expect to see you at work bright and early tomorrow.”

Celia shuffles her feet as she walks home. She was certain she could get Nesta to budge on the price even a little. Perhaps she should’ve known better? Aside from being a woman of hard countenance, Nesta is an employee of the Bennett’s. Perhaps Celia isn’t giving her enough credit? Perhaps Nesta’s hands are tied? Passing the market bazaar, Celia notes the many beast folk slaves accompanying their human masters. With a long history and understanding of the taming of the beast folk, humans often earn their servant’s trust and even admiration; they follow their master’s like loyal pets.

Perhaps that’s the answer?! Perhaps she could use her savings to buy her uncle a regular, untrained slave?! They’re still quite costly for a woman of her means, but it would be better than nothing. This idea is quickly shattered, however, when she recalls that Emory doesn’t speak a word of Hitrosii, which nearly all of the beast folk learn from their parents. Generations have made it the language of both the elves of Chumar and the population of the beast folk, even the enslaved.

Only a Companion could communicate with him, or one of the beast women adopted by The Order of The One. The religious organization primarily adopts infants and imparts the human’s language onto them as they’re raised by the clergy. However, they never place their initiates or acolytes into anything resembling slavery. No, a Companion is required, but how will she attain one?! Recalling how coldly Nesta rejected her pleas makes Celia burn with anger and resentment. That’s when she remembers something she’d said.

“And I certainly don’t have the authority...”

Celia’s eyes widen and she stops in her tracks. What if Nesta did have the authority? A thought creeps into her mind and Celia races home. She dashes through the house only to stop when she hears her uncle grunting. Peeking into his bed chamber through the partially opened door, she finds him on the floor, pushing himself up again and again. He may be having another episode. Moving quietly into her bed chamber, Celia collects a roll of parchment, an inkwell and a quill, then takes a seat on a stool beside her little nightstand. Working with candlelight, she drafts a note.

“I hope this works...” She mutters to herself.

Part Three: Shellshock

Several weeks pass since Celia had sent her letter, and despite their kingdom having the fastest runners and horsemen, she has yet to receive an answer. Nesta never speaks of the request and Celia continues to work and save her money. Perhaps in a year or two, she can afford to help her uncle? In the meantime, she does her best to assist him in his day-to-day life. She sits and listens to him speak his mind, on those rare occasions, cooks and cleans for him and even spends some of her savings to see his home maintained.

In spite of these efforts, Emory still cannot return to his profession and wallows in depression, forgotten by everyone but her. Then one day, she finds a letter. Lifting it from a small wooden box beside the front door, it has a green wax seal with a strange symbol pressed into it. Her eyes widen. Can it be?! Instead of leaving for work as she’d intended, Celia races back into the house to break the seal and read the letter. Her eyes remain as wide as saucers.

“Dear Celia,

Your letter was brought to my attention and I was compelled to respond. The Temple of the Companions is a business, and a very exclusive one. The head of my family has operated it consistently for nearly two-hundred years, and will continue to do so in the manner that we’ve established. Prudence and practicality are what make a business as successful as ours. However, I’ve read your complaints and felt your words. I found your argument to be very passionate and moving. Having had relatives who’ve fought and died in wars long past, I sympathize with and appreciate your position, more than most would. Warriors who survive the battleground always return wounded, even those without injuries. For the sake of your uncle, and many more who may be in similar circumstances, I’m willing to attempt an experiment. Present the enclosed note and token to Nesta at your earliest convenience. Ensure that the seal on the note remains intact. She will explain the concept upon reading it. I hope this helps...

Sincerely,

Lucian Bennett, the Ninth.”

Celia’s hands shake and her mouth hangs open. Is this real?! Is she dreaming?! A thorough examination of the letter reveals clues to its origin. The Bennett family’s coat of arms is stamped near the bottom right. A wedge-shaped shield contains four equal divisions, two green squares and two black squares. The top left square is green and contains a black wolf’s paw. The top right is black and contains a green horseshoe. The bottom left is black and contains a green lizard’s foot, and the bottom right is green with a black bird’s talon.

Each symbol represents the varying races of beast folk whom the Bennett’s train and sell as Companions. All of them. Perched atop each concave corner of the shield is a raven, its wings spread wide. A wolf’s skull acts as a centerpiece, resting on the flat plane and between the ravens. It’s the namesake of every male heir to lead the family. The inner wings of both ravens appear to point toward the skull, and both the ravens and the wolf’s skull have bright green dots in their eye sockets.

The entire family crest is vibrantly colored. Only a wealthy individual could afford custom parchment, and no one would waste it for reasons as petty as a cruel joke on a woman of the lower classes. If that wasn’t enough evidence, the green wax seal she’d broken to read the letter was stamped with an impression of the Bennett’s coat of arms. Even the ink appears to be of high quality! This cannot be anything other than legitimate. She must show Nesta right away!

Before leaving, Celia holds the small, folded note contained within the letter’s envelope. It’s also sealed with green wax and stamped with the same impression. The seal is undamaged. Inside the envelope she also finds a token. Far larger than the largest zakian, it appears to be made of old brass and contains a strange symbol that she doesn’t recognize. Somehow, this is of significance to the Bennett’s, and therefore it’s of significance to her.

“This is it...” She says to herself, clutching tightly to the note and token.

Celia wastes no time and races for the temple, all but flying past everything and everyone. Despite leaving later than usual, she somehow beats the other women to work, surprising Nesta who prepares to mark down employee attendance with the board and chalk.

“Celia! You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Nesta exclaims.

“I must speak to you, right away!” Celia exclaims through labored breaths.

“About?”

Celia doesn’t say a word, merely lifting up the token. Nesta takes the token and examines it, only for her eyes to grow wide. The other women who work at the temple begin to arrive but Nesta pays no attention to them. When one woman asks her if she’s alright, Nesta merely tells them, in the softest and quietest voice they’ve ever heard, to change into their dresses and begin working. Without ever marking the attendance board, Nesta motions for Celia to follow her and leads her employee directly to her office.

“Where did you get this?” Nesta finally asks.

“The same place as this...” Celia presents Nesta the note. “It was sent to me in a letter... From Lucian Bennett.”

“Lucian Bennett wrote to you?!” Nesta gasps.

After an awkward silence, Nesta breaks the seal and begins to read the note. Her mouth hangs open as her eyes scan the parchment.

“Ma’am?”

“Just a moment...” Nesta mutters. “I don’t believe this... Do you know what this says?!” She gasps, holding up the note.

“The seal wasn’t broken...”

“I know that! I was just... What did you write in your letter?”

“Ma’am?”

“This note has ordered me to surrender to your uncle, who’s mentioned by name, one of our Companions. It recommends I choose one of the unwanted, and also recommends that I allow your uncle to choose which one of the five he’ll take home. This token bears the original Bennett family seal, before they founded the Temple of the Companions and changed it.”

“Oh.” Celia cannot help but smile.

“Furthermore, it says that I’m to forward monthly reports written by you, and that if your uncle’s situation improves, a program will be created allowing veterans to purchase Companions for a quarter of the normal cost... What did you say in your letter?” Nesta asks, a meekness in her voice.

“Nothing I didn’t say to you...”

“I cannot believe this...” Nesta grumbles, slumping back in her chair. “Do you realize that I have to write this off as a loss on my quarterly report?!”

“Huh... I guess fifty percent off was a pretty good deal then, wasn’t it?” Celia cannot help but taunt her.

“... Go home and fetch your uncle...”

For the first time in a long time, Celia happily obeys Nesta and races home. Upon arriving at home, she finds her uncle in the kitchen area. He examines the cleaned bowls, cups, plates and spoons and turns to Celia.

“Thank you...” He speaks softly.

“Huh?”

He lifts up a clean bowl and bows his head like a child caught stealing sweets.

“I’ve been meaning to but... Thanks...”

“It’s alright.” She smiles and rests a hand on his shoulder.

“There are so many things I’ve been meaning to do...” He sighs.

“I know... Would you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Wash, trim or shave your beard and put on your finest clothes. I’d like you to come with me.”

“To where?” He furls his brow.

“My work. We need to do something there.”

To her surprise, Emory doesn’t even question her. He follows her commands and cleans himself, and as he washes and makes himself presentable, Celia hastily tidies up the home even more. Though she’s proud of her achievement, a part of her cannot help but worry. Will this work as she’d hoped? Will the Companion be grateful to be with her uncle or resent his low status? Will he make it too difficult for her with his episodes? The anxiety of uncertainty is palpable, but Celia forces it aside and leads Emory toward her work.

As they walk, Celia’s fears return. Emory doesn’t ask any questions, he doesn’t marvel at the grand structure as they climb the steps, and he doesn’t seem the least bit interested in anything taking place around him. It’s as if his body is there but his mind is not. It isn’t until they enter the temple and one of Celia’s coworkers begins to greet him does she see even a glimmer of hope. Celia’s coworker stops mid-greeting upon realizing that Emory is not a rich noble, while Emory immediately eyes her form as any healthy man would.

“Celia? What, uhm... What’re you doing?” The young and pretty blonde asks.

“I’ll tell you later, Nastazia.”

Emory glances at almost every woman he sees, and even leans back as a noble walks before a row of a half-dozen scantily clad beast women. He examines their barely covered bosoms, compares their toned bellies and scrutinizes the gap between their legs.

“Why did you bring me here?” He finally asks, a discomfort in his voice.

“To help you.”

“I don’t understand...”

“You will.” Celia flashes him a warm smile.

Upon reaching Nesta’s office the pair find her still seated in her chair, slumped back and staring at a potted plant.

“Nesta? Ma’am... Ahem... Ma’am?!”

“Huh?” She seems to snap out of a trance.

“Here’s my uncle, Emory.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” He extends a hand.

Nesta looks down at his hand and then turns her eyes toward his. Feeling her hostility, Emory slowly retracts his hand.

“You know... I was almost expecting a one-legged cretin... You’re, uhm... Healthy.” Nesta remarks, her eyes scanning Emory’s muscled form. “Good looking, too...”

“Thank you... What am I doing here?”

“Well, Emory, you’re here to-”

“You’re here because your niece has taken it upon herself to write to my boss, Lucian Bennett!” Nesta exclaims, pushing herself up from her chair and slowly moving around her desk. “She came to me with a request, which duty demanded I refuse, but Mr. Bennett has decided to spit on my job description and now here we are!”

Nesta stands before him, glaring up at Emory. Emory raises an eyebrow and looks between his niece and the older woman.

“That... Didn’t answer my question.”

“We’re here because your niece thinks you need a Companion...”

“What?!”

“And Lucian has agreed to give you one... Free! Because I’m apparently a cold-hearted bitch, and running a business cannot stand in the way of helping people!” She yells, turning her head and glaring at Celia.

“... Is this a joke?!”

“Would you like to see Mr. Bennett’s orders?!” Nesta pulls the note from a fold in her dress, near her breasts.

Despite being substantially more powerful than her, Emory hesitates to take the note, as if out of fear. A frustrated Nesta grabs his hand, turns it over and slaps the note against his palm. Upon reading it, his eyes grow wide and he turns to his niece. Celia smiles and nods, then reaches out to hold her uncle’s hand.

“I’ll show you to a vacant viewing room. Are they ready?”

“Yes...” Nesta grumbles.

“I wasn’t asking you.” Celia glances at her boss.

“...”

Emory appears even more out of his element than usual as Celia leads him out of the office, down a hall and into a vacant room. It’s identical to the others, where he’d glimpsed nobles examining the Companions as they chose their next concubine. Celia seats her uncle in the chair and collects the paperwork from the storage desk in the corner. However, upon looking back at her uncle she realizes that he’s in no state of mind to be burdened with such forms. He looks quite unnerved.

Celia signs all of it for him without ever mentioning it. Nesta leads the beast women into the waiting room herself, then peeks into the viewing room and signals to Celia. She turns to her uncle and offers the choice; one at a time or a traditional line-up?

“I can’t walk up and down looking them over like pieces of meat...” Emory begins, a warmth in his voice. “When you’ve seen what I’ve seen, you know that there’s more to them than that... I feel strange simply sitting in this chair.”

Emory answers without ever realizing that the beast women can hear him from the other room. They’re immediately intrigued. This man doesn’t speak like a noble!

“One at a time, then.” Celia softly replies, rubbing one of her uncle’s shoulders.

Nesta had lined the girls before a bench in the large waiting room beyond the curtain, and in no particular order. They sit as Emory is prepared for the viewing. Once it’s time to begin, the girl to the left is chosen first. Stepping through the curtain, she briefly stops upon seeing the man in the chair. He looks to her and his eyes widen a little, a brow raising with obvious intrigue. The Vostii of the cat-kin continues her approach as she’s trained. She stands at the specified distance, performs the trained greeting gesture for a prospective master and then waits.

As one of the ‘unwanted’, she’s been passed over more times than she can count and has memorized this routine. It’s always such a crushing blow to her when she’s left unchosen, even by the fat and unattractive nobles, but in this brief instance a part of her is hoping for that. The man in the chair is not aged or unattractive. He’s fit, even muscular, and in many ways, he’s very pleasing to the eye. She would love to “know” him, but giving him her virginity and living with him are two entirely different things.

Despite the clean clothes he wears, she can see that this man is not a noble. They’re not the clothes of a pauper, but he’s in stark contrast to the many who’ve seen and rejected her. He wears no jewels, his shoes are basic and unpolished, and while her superior sense of smell does not detect any unpleasant odors, she also doesn’t smell a hint of perfumes. This is just a man! Is she so unappealing that she cannot be sold to a noble?! Will a highly-trained Companion such as herself, groomed from birth to service the elites of human society, be forced to submit to a nobody?!

Emory looks at the Vostii, who’s Calico fur is vibrant, clean and even shiny. She is short and dainty, with curves in the right places and a pretty face, for a beast woman. Why has she not been sold?! Nesta appears from behind the curtain, perplexing Celia. This is not a typical viewing, but she didn’t expect Nesta to want to participate; the rules only allow for one human employee in the room at a time, so as not to distract the client. Clearing his throat, Emory asks the obvious question, looking to Nesta for an answer.

“Why is she labeled ‘unwanted’? I look at her and I cannot understand.”

“I don’t know.” Nesta shrugs.

“Maybe they simply don’t like her colors?” Celia interjects.

“I can only assume that they see her pattern and imagine a male Calico housecat. It’s possible that they assume she’s barren or perhaps even sickly. Neither are true.” Nesta continues.

“That’s strange.” Emory furls his brow in confusion.

“Nobles may be wealthy but they’re not always the smartest group...” Nesta admits.

“Why would they not purchase her if they assume she’s barren? You would think that would be a selling-point.” Emory points out.

“Kink?” Nesta shrugs again. “The thought of risking a pregnancy arouses many men, but if you believe that she cannot become pregnant...”

“I see...”

Emory turns to the cat woman and asks her a question. It’s simple, benign, all in an effort to get to know her. Already dissatisfied with her potential master, she answers him in his tongue, but her tone is dry and her voice very soft. Her eyes dart about. Emory can tell right away that she has no interest in him. It’s a blow to his already weakened ego to have a beast woman, regardless of training, find him unappealing. With a soft, almost defeated voice, he tells her she can go.

The Vostii disappears behind the curtain and takes her place upon the bench. She gives the other women a look, but cannot speak of what she’s seen as Nesta peeks behind the curtain and watches them. Nesta places herself in between rooms and remains there for the duration of the viewing. The next to appear before Emory is another Vostii, this one of the rabbit-kin. She too is briefly startled by the attractive yet decidedly not-wealthy human who wears simple clothes and no perfumes.

Emory examines this woman from the comfort of the chair. She’s about the right height for a woman of the rabbit-kin, her fur is soft and clean and her ears and tail, with the shape of a candle’s flame, are not deformed in the slightest. Her only flaw appears to be a particularly sturdy frame which softens her feminine curves and leaves her with a rather cylindrical shape. Large and perky breasts do not disguise her otherwise bulky appearance, and in fact only enhance it. Still, she’s not remotely unattractive! Nobles must be a very fickle bunch.

Emory speaks in a calm, polite manner and asks the bunny girl similar questions. These also receive answers with an audibly dry and disinterested tone of voice. Emory can see the disappointment on the Vostii’s face, and the wounds to his ego become even deeper. He tells himself that it must be the same for the beast women, who are visibly disheartened by their prospects. This attempt at softening the blow does little to lift his spirits, but it does allow him to continue.

“You can go...” He murmurs.

“As you wish...”

The bunny girl bows her head and shuffles her paw-like feet as she returns to the waiting room. She gives the cat girl a strange look, as though they now share a secret that the others are not yet aware of. Sitting upon the bench, she rests her elbows atop her knees and places her chin in her hands as she looks down at the floor. It’s now the next girl’s turn. Hooves thump softly atop the rug and Nesta presents Emory with a Korutan of the pony-kin.

“That explains her stature.” He remarks.

Unlike the horse or zebra kin, the pony Korutan share the same features but are roughly the size of humans, whereas their larger cousins are often two heads taller and a hundred pounds heavier, if not more. To Emory’s surprise, this girl appears very thin, almost emaciated!

“Why is she so thin?!”

“Everyone asks that question...” Nesta sighs. “She eats like a horse, if you’ll pardon the pun, and yet for some reason she never gains any weight. Ever since she was a little girl, we could always see the shape of her ribcage glinting through her shiny, brown fur.”

“Oh! I knew a man like that. He could eat anything and yet always had the body of a thirteen-year-old boy. Sometimes for laughs, we would pick him up and lift him like weights!” Emory chuckles. “He was a good man... A good soldier.” He sighs, his expression and tone once again turning gloomy.

This is who they’re being offered to?! A mere soldier?! The cat and rabbit girls share a look, while the Sabaarii, who is forth in line, prepares herself. Emory attempts to ask the same questions of the pony girl, but to his surprise the Korutan appears hypnotized, albeit not in a positive way. She stares at his muscular form and trembles. When she does answer, her words are choppy and her voice quivers. What a strong warrior! What could a man such as this do to the scrawny pony girl?! He could dominate her so easily and she could never defend herself!

Already realizing that this is a waste of time, Emory speaks in the softest and sweetest voice he can, trying to calm her frazzled nerves. It fails. Upon dismissing her, she turns and runs through the curtain. With his elbow perched atop an armrest, Emory rests his forehead in his palm and stares at the floor. He doesn’t ask for the next girl, but Nesta, now sharing Celia’s worried and sympathetic expression, motions toward the Sabaarii.

The woman of the sand-kin is a beautiful creature indeed, and unlike the Sabaarii of the water-kin, who have a smooth, glossy and dense hide, the sand-kin have many fine scales which are also often quite smooth and pleasing to the touch. The mammalian woman is covered in rusty brown, beige and yellow scales, and stands a respectable height for a female of most races. She is healthy looking, and her face, though reptilian and with the long and broad snout, is quite pretty.

The only thing that Emory can see as flaws are her colors, her small bust and softened curves. Female Sabaarii of both types, land-dwelling and amphibious, often have hides much more colorful and vibrant than their male counterparts. This woman’s colors are not unique and the pattern is rather dull. Her breasts, being small, are easily concealed. When combined with her colors, height and figure, Emory could see her being mistaken for a male on occasion.

As with the two Vostii, the Sabaarii answers his questions in a bland and disinterested fashion. Furthermore, she doesn’t appear to find him attractive at all, never once eying his form or looking him in the eyes. Emory turns to Celia after dismissing the Sabaarii, and though he doesn’t say it, it’s obvious from the look on his face that he wants to stop. Even Nesta’s heart aches for the man, who seems to have no luck at all, even with slaves.

“There’s still one more, Emory.” Celia speaks softly, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

“And you can claim any who suits you.” Nesta adds, a warmth in her voice as she tries to help uplift his spirits.

“Fine... Show her in.” He sighs.

The fifth girl looks to the others with shock and horror. Are they truly going to pass up the chance to leave the temple for whatever lies on the other side of the curtain?! With a gesture from Nesta, she rises to her feet and makes her way toward the cloth partition. Stepping through, her eyes grow wide. Emory turns his eyes toward her only for them to match her stare. His head lifts and his back straightens. A beautiful Vostii of the wolf-kin stands before him.

With white fur covering her entire body, she follows the route she was trained to take. It allows him to see her at an angle. Her buttocks are nice and perky but not plump, her bushy tail is the appropriate length, and her coat is shiny and clean. On her back is a long, black stripe that runs the length of her spine. It’s an unusual marking, but what’s more unusual is her size. The wolfess towers over the other women. Even from his chair, Emory is certain that she is at least a head taller than him!

“Wow...” He chokes out.

Standing before him, the wolfess performs a motion that the others had done. She runs her clawed hands from her chest to her sternum, her fingers moving between and then beneath her breasts as she extends her arms and bows her head. This is the greeting gesture for a Companion during a viewing. Her breasts are not large and yet not small; they are perfect handfuls. He rises from his chair, something he hadn’t done for the others, his mouth agape.

“I am Lucia, sir.” She speaks softly, her eyes still closed and head still bowed.

“Lucia... It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Celia holds in a chuckle. Lucia, a woman of the wolf-kin, and a gift from Lucian Bennett. What an amusing coincidence! Lifting her head, Lucia’s scans his form with her big, amber eyes. Though he’s shorter than her, this is true for every man she’s ever been presented to. Unlike the others, however, he’s healthy and strong. A part of her mind reminds her that this man is a commoner, beneath her standing, but another more primal thought emerges. What could such a strong and capable man, a warrior, do for her? What could he do to her?

“I’ve been to many places, seen many foreign lands, and yet I’ve never stood before a Vostii female who’s taller than me. Is she Zesharii? She must be mixed with something to attain such a size.” Emory remarks.

“In truth, all of our females are Zesharii to one degree or another. Purebreds are forbidden due to health concerns, though Lucia’s records do not indicate her lineage having anything other than wolf blood in it. That isn’t to say that an ancestor three generations ago hadn’t mixed with a larger breed of the beast folk.” Nesta replies.

“If that’s true, then she is a remarkable size for a woman of the wolf-kin!”

“Yes. If she were a horse or zebra or bear, she’d be a little small, but as a wolf she’s frighteningly large. I suspect that’s why she remains.”

“Most unfair.” Emory shakes his head.

“My size displeases you?” Lucia asks, bowing her head once more but keeping her eyes trained on him.

“Why would it?” He says with a smile.

The human and the Vostii examine each other for a moment. Emory takes a step closer and Lucia matches him, her paw-like foot making almost no noise on the soft rug. The wolfess then takes two more steps, approaching him of her own volition. This is a first! With his spirits lifted, Emory approaches her and eyes her form, though the latter action is involuntary.

“You were soldier?” She suddenly asks.

“Yes.” Emory nods.

“Soldiers are very strong.” Lucia coos.

“Yes. You look very strong.” Emory points out.

He reaches out but stops, waiting for permission. Lucia grants it and Emory touches her arm. Though he meant it as a compliment, the primal part of her, the beast woman who still resides in the caves of her ancestors, feels her own strength as his weakness. How can she submit to a man who doesn’t hold some power over her?! Be it wealth or status or muscles, males should always be above their females. Her interest begins to wane, but another voice quickly interjects!

His touch is very soft, very gentle. He does not appear to be a cruel tyrant, an entitled noble whom she must cater to. The human who touches her, whom she looks down upon, is a good man. Good men are rare, and she should give him a chance. This is the civilized part of her mind, the part created by her environment within the temple and through life amongst the humans. A dichotomy forms and Lucia finds herself torn between desire and disinterest; she chooses neutrality. Perhaps this is what troubles the others?

As with the previous four, Emory asks a handful of seemingly unrelated questions in an attempt to get to know her. Lucia answers them truthfully and concisely. In an odd way, the civilized woman finds this process appealing. Does he truly care about what will be little more than his property?! This is a good man, indeed! Meanwhile, her primal woman sees little purpose in it. Again, Lucia struggles and merely complies with his questionnaire.

“I like her.” Emory suddenly remarks.

“This is the one?” Celia asks.

Lucia and Emory share a gaze. Emory raises a brow in a manner that feels like a question. Is he asking for her permission to buy her?! Confused, Lucia only knows that she would rather be with this man than rejected once more and made to serve in the temple. Like the other ‘unwanted’, her repeated rejections require her to earn income for the Temple of the Companions in another form. Instead of hiring more women, she cleans and otherwise acts as a maid, in between her continual Companion training.

Furthermore, her status declines even among her own; the younger, more attractive and most likely to be sold often treat her and the other four with a degree of scorn. That’s not much of a life. Perhaps this man offers more? For the first time since she’d met him, both voices, primal and civilized, urge her to cling to this opportunity. Lucia steps closer, until her chest and breasts nearly bump into Emory’s face.

“It appears so.” Emory replies, reaching out and taking hold of Lucia’s hand.

She looks down at her hand, feeling his fingers wrapping around it. Her palm is as large as his, her fingers even longer, and her menacing claws give her appendage a dominant appearance. However, Emory grips her with a strength that she wasn’t expecting. The primal woman swoons, imagining all of the ways her new master will put his strength to good use. Her lips curl into a little smile and she grips his hand in kind. Celia collects the bill of sale while Nesta watches the pair for a moment, a strange grin on her face. With Emory distracted by the wolfess, Celia approaches her boss.

“Ma’am, may I-?”

“Take your uncle home and spend the day there. See how they adjust. You can return to work tomorrow.” Nesta speaks in a hushed voice.

“... Thank you!” Celia gratefully whispers.

Lucia’s ears twitch, but her focus is on her new master. With little more for her to do, Nesta wishes Emory and Lucia a good life together and expresses her hopes that Lucia will please him, as she does for all of their customers. As Celia presents him with the final paperwork, Nesta disappears into the waiting room where the other four women are made to return to their duties. Celia drafts the receipt and collects the custom-made keys to Lucia’s chastity belt, which she eagerly presents to her uncle.

“What’s this?” He raises a brow.

“It’s the keys...”

“...”

“The keys to the master’s undergarments.” Celia replies, dumbfounded by his obliviousness.

“Oh! How did I not notice that?!” He chuckles, glancing down at the device around Lucia’s hips and covering her groin.

Both women share the same startled expression. Aside from being traditionally made of brass, which contrasts remarkably with her mostly white fur, the use of chastity belts by owners of Companions, and even some generic slave masters, is common knowledge. Had he not glanced at her womanhood?! Emory claims the key and turns to Lucia.

“Are you ready to go? Do you have any belongings to collect?” He asks her.

“No, master. I ready to leave with you.”

“Alright. Come, Lucia. Let’s go home.” Emory grins.

Part Four: Healing

Celia cannot help but notice the positive change in her uncle, which is almost immediate. He leads them through the temple, down the steps and toward his home as if he’d planned this trip for months. Lucia follows, her hand held firmly in his. The Vostii’s flowing but revealing dress gives away her prestige. As they move from the wealthier part of town and toward Emory’s humble home, more and more people stare at the towering wolfess. How did Emory attain a Companion?!

The attention bothers Lucia almost as much as her new surroundings. Upon first seeing Emory’s home, it begins to sink in that this situation is anything but ordinary. It’s a clean home but a modest one, very obviously belonging to a middle-class man. Though Lucia is grateful to finally have a master, to no longer be branded ‘unwanted’, a most painful phrase, the lack of space and light might make adjusting to her new life more challenging.

The primal woman in her sees things differently. The cave-like atmosphere brings a primitive comfort and her superior eyes quickly adjust to the darkness. Celia opens a few shutters, letting in more light. For the first time since she’d moved in with her uncle, he doesn’t object to the additional sunlight. Instead, he begins to show Lucia around her new home. Unlike with Celia, he actually speaks and explains little details about his dwelling. At the end of the tour, he presents her with his own bed chamber.

Lucia is both shocked and honored to learn that she will already be sleeping beside her new master. Though he admits he has no spare rooms for her - Celia occupies the only other bed chamber - the manner in which he speaks makes it seem as though it wouldn’t matter even if he did. Eager to prove herself, Lucia steps closer and grabs hold of her master. She nuzzles his cheek and gives him a sniff before licking his face with the tip of her tongue, a particularly seductive gesture.

Celia’s eyes widen as she stands in the foreground. She’d long been taught that the beast folk are not as modest or thoughtful as humans, with stories of carefree nudity and mating in view of others. However, as she was always too poor to even entertain the thought of owning one, this is her first real experience with the creatures. Her uncle Emory, however, appears to have expected this. He tilts his head and allows the taller Lucia to lean in and smell him.

The wolfess’ eyelids flutter as she draws in his scent, which has a particular musk that she’s yet to experience. For much of her life, she was trained and taught about the arts of pleasure, and this musk was explained to her. It’s a scent that only the beast folk can properly discern, and belongs only to adult men with intact genitalia. As her intimidating stature unnerved other potential master’s, Lucia was never this close to a man before, and a scent such as Emory’s could only be properly appreciated with nose-to-skin contact.

Her clawed hands grip his biceps as she drags the flesh of her canine nose over his neck. After another long sniff she gives his neck a kiss. Emory has since wrapped his arms around her waist, one hand on the small of her back while the other rests on her side, just beneath her ribcage. Lucia licks her master’s neck and then kisses him. His scent causes a new and strange but not unwelcome change in her body.

“I should, uhm... Hmm...” Celia murmurs to herself, watching the pair.

Turning his head, Emory gazes into Lucia’s eyes and then claims a kiss. He acts on his own volition, doing as he pleases with the female. Lucia’s bushy tail begins to sway, the soft fibers of her fur churning the air with a faint swish. Without uttering another word, Celia slowly creeps out of the home and closes the front door. There are a few tasks she can perform, as it’s not even mid-day; while her uncle and the beast woman become “acquainted”, she might as well make herself useful.

Lucia may be a Companion but a concubine of any stripe is little more than a slave. In the confines of a noble’s manor or vast, private lands, it would not be necessary, but as Emory’s concubine she’ll be legally required to wear a collar and tags upon leaving his home. Perhaps afterward she should stop by the apothecary to buy a satchel of neberum caps? As close as they were becoming, she’s certain that they’ll be a requirement, if not today then very soon.

While Celia is away, running errands on her uncle’s behalf, Emory and Lucia work their way toward his bed. She takes a step with a long, strong leg, following her master. Her claws click softly on the stone floor. Emory takes another step backward but nearly stumbles. He doesn’t fall, however, quickly regaining his balance. It’s a challenge to navigate with his eyes closed and his tongue caressing Lucia’s. How many more steps are left?

Taking his lips from hers, he glances back at his bed. Only a few more! Lucia continues to kiss him, working her way toward his neck. As she kisses him, she cranes her neck and shifts her body, allowing Emory to bury his nose in her soft but dense coat of fur. He cannot resist her offer and smells the feminine scent radiating from the nape of her neck and just above her bosoms. Even a human male can detect a beast woman’s alluring aroma.

“Please, master. I have waited for long time. Please, may I serve you? May I give you pleasure?” Lucia asks between kisses and licks to his neck.

Emory pauses for a moment, as if he cannot understand the question. Perhaps he’s overwhelmed by her skills? He eventually nods. Only after a brief period of thought does he remember that her chastity belt is still locked. Retrieving his key, he sits at the edge of the bed as Lucia stands before him. She runs her claws through his hair, stroking his head as she feels her body preparing itself for her first sexual encounter. As if to tease him, she leans in and bumps his forehead with the underside of her breasts, the perfect handfuls that they are.

Emory looks up and smiles, attends to each of her little pink nipples for a moment, and then returns to the task at hand. He finds the little keyholes, one of either side of the plate covering her pubic region. Turning the key earns him a satisfying clunk. As the latches pull away, he can see how weathered the exterior is. Beneath the plate, thick tufts of soft white fur cover her pubic area, much as hair does for a human woman. The furs are matted and unkempt.

“Do they not remove these?!” He asks, looking up at Lucia.

“No, master.” She coos, moving her pelvis closer to his face. “Never.”

Emory takes a few seconds to examine the device. Thin but sturdy brass bands, with hinges near her buttocks and latches by her groin, allow the belt to wrap around her hips. Padding covered in leather ensures a snug and somewhat comfortable fit. The internal locks crown the main body of device, which runs between her legs and over her bare womanhood. Small, cone-shaped teeth bend outward and line a thin opening, which allow her to urinate through it but prevents even a small finger from touching her flesh.

The device spreads apart immediately behind her womanhood, with brass bands running up and toward her hips, leaving her anus uncovered. Its form allows her to perform other bodily functions without ever removing it. A device made so precisely could only be crafted for each individual body. The two upward moving bands also lock into the rear of her belt, which runs beneath her tail bone. Her bushy tail hides these latches, though only the front need be released to remove the device.

“This contraption looks positively evil.”

“Thank you, master. Thank you for removing it.” Lucia coos.

Her claws hook his top, which is little more than a fancy tunic. It isn’t even made of a fine material, simply bearing the intricate designs of a silk shirt. Emory’s hands explore Lucia’s body, very slowly and very methodically. He fluffs her pubic fur in a teasing manner, and upon touching the moist flesh of her nether regions Lucia feels something explode within her. The wolfess pounces! She pushes him onto his back and straddles him while tearing at his trousers, but a glimpse of the manhood he wields causes a brief cessation.

She’s learned of male anatomy in her training, especially human - the Companions had been warned about more peculiar masters preferring to watch, and have therefor also been taught about the manhoods of beast men - but Emory’s loins appear well above the average for many! Using this opportunity, Emory grabs her by the ribs, his thumbs beneath her soft and perky breasts, and promptly rolls them over. He all but throws her onto the center of his bed, startling the Vostii of the wolf-kin.

For as large and as strong as she is, Emory manages to handle her with ease. His muscles are not just for show. Before she realizes what’s happening, her master has grabbed her knees, spread her legs apart and placed himself between them. A sensation makes her gasp. Something warm, firm and quite heavy presses and then rubs against her nether lips. He grinds himself against her as he fondles one of her breasts. His other hand, along with his knees, keeps him from putting undue pressure on her body.

“Prepare yourself. There may be pain, but I won’t stop until you feel pleasure.”

She has no time to respond. His strength and dominance delight her primal woman, while his passionate kisses and the way her cradles her body as he looms over her warms her civilized heart. He’s not merely pleasuring himself but her as well, and the masculine dominance combined with respectful and thoughtful ministrations prove his dedication. The sex they enjoy is both long-winded and passionate. Her master is not merely a warrior but a conqueror!

Emory controls Lucia’s taller form as if she were half the size, and she finds herself overjoyed to submit to such a strong and worthy male. The pain of losing her virginity stops as quickly as the bleeding, which stains her master’s bedding. Pleasures untold swarm her body like biting flies. She quivers as she endures her first climax, clinging to her master and raking his soft, sweaty flesh with her claws. In this moment, Emory proves to her that he is as skilled in the art of sex as she was taught to be. Schooling, however, is not a match for raw experience.

Celia returns only to both hear and see her uncle and the beast woman consorting on his bed. Lucia now straddles Emory, rocking her hips and clinging to her master’s hands as she’s directed by him through subtle cues; he’s never lost control. With her cheeks as red as beets, Celia places a satchel of neberum caps atop the kitchen table and sets Lucia’s new collar and tags atop another table just within Emory’s bed chamber. She then quickly retreats to her own.

She sits atop her bed and listens as Lucia enjoys many pleasures, moaning in a most authentic and embarrassing way. It’s obvious that she greatly enjoys whatever her uncle is doing to her. Emory’s health is not in question, as his stamina proves to be considerable and Celia is forced to endure more than an hour of their moans and wails. Despite the evidence, a part of Celia cannot believe this is happening and wonders if she’ll soon awaken only to hear her uncle crying out to long lost friends in his sleep.

Once they’ve finally finished, Emory and Lucia lie beside each other and snuggle. Her fur is quite damp and musky from the ordeal, but it doesn’t stop him from holding onto her as though she were the only woman in the world. His enthusiastic sniffing of her musky fur makes her face flush while his firm grip and loving nuzzles leave her at peace. Emory is similarly affected. He’s calmed by the aroma of their passion, and as he nuzzles Lucia, he cannot help but think that her companionship might give his dreary life some well needed warmth and light.

Lucia rolls onto her side, drapes a leg over his and clings to him. He glances down to see her large, paw-like foot further down the bed than his own. It brings a level of amusement, but her soft kisses distract him. He turns to her, shares in her passion and then nuzzles her snout as she embraces him so lovingly.

“That was very spontaneous.” He remarks, looking into her eyes.

“I have waited many years to have a master, to give myself to him. You are now my master, and I eagerly give myself to you.” She replies rather matter-of-factly.

“I see that! ... Oh... Is this what they call a ‘safe day’?” He suddenly asks.

“What?” She cocks her head.

“Is it safe to spill my seed in you without you becoming pregnant?” He clarifies.

“Hehe! There is no such thing, master. You have spilled your seed inside of me, and there it will remain, glued to insides of my womanhood. There, your seed will remain potent for days. I may not become pregnant today, but in four days I could become pregnant because of what we have done today.”

“Really?!”

“Mhm!” She nods.

“They teach you that in the temple?”

“Yes.”

“You’re very smart.” He says, taking a hand and gently caressing her cheek.

“I smart?! Truly?!?!” She gasps.

“Yes. I bet you know more about reproduction and childbirth than most doctors or midwives.”

The genuine compliment leaves Lucia with a warmth in her heart that’s almost painful. It takes her a moment to collect herself.

“M-master?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have neberum?” She asks.

“Oh... I, uhm... Hmm...”

“It’s in the kitchen! The satchel on the table!” Celia suddenly exclaims from her bed chamber down the hall.

“Thank you!” An embarrassed Emory shouts back.

Lucia rises from the bed and makes her way into the kitchen, startling Celia who wasn’t expecting to see the Vostii still naked. Using her training, she prepares tea of neberum. She cannot help but be excited, as this time she prepares it for a purpose. Lucia drinks the hot tea just as a now clothed Emory joins her.

“Ugh!” She winces and sets the clay cup aside.

“Delicious?” He asks, sharing her expression.

“Bleh...” Lucia sticks out her tongue. “I was warned it bitter... I learned to make tea but never drank before today.”

“Oh... Perhaps I should spill my seed outside of you?” He thinks aloud.

“No!” Lucia turns toward him. “You spill your seed where you like, master.”

Though she initially speaks to help him maintain his masculine dominance over her, in an attempt to subdue her primal woman, a part of her cannot deny that feeling him flooding her body with his semen was an unspeakable pleasure. She only hopes to feel it again, very soon and with frequency.

“Master...” He sighs. “Could you please call me ‘Emory’?”

Lucia’s eyes widen. She doesn’t know how to respond. Don’t men enjoy being the superior of a pairing? She certainly enjoyed it when he was! Lifting the collar and tags, Emory reaches up and wraps it around her neck before clicking it into place. Just as she was beginning to doubt his strength, he reinforces it with this. The remainder of the day is little more than Lucia becoming comfortable with her new master and his home. In an effort to placate Celia, he takes them both out, holding Lucia’s leash as he buys her more concealing clothes.

Though he tries to give her the best, his wealth is obviously limited. They can see the frustration on his face. For the very first time, Celia hears him grumbling about his pension and his service in the King’s army. That night, Lucia takes over the kitchen for her master, fervently shooing Celia away from the stove. It’s not often a skill required by Companions, who are prepared to spend their lives in luxury, entertaining their noble masters at a moment’s notice. Lucia, however, feels driven. Something inside of her demands she make the effort.

That night, she shares her master’s bed just as he’d promised. She’s both startled and pleased when he clings to her. It’s as though he needs to hold her, to feel her warmth against his body. She doesn’t complain, comforted by him to equal degree. Celia cannot help but smile when she peeks inside to find her uncle sound asleep at night. What a swift change! Perhaps this was all he needed? Perhaps things will be better now? With her mind at peace, Celia lies down and falls asleep. Her dreams are pleasant and comforting, in stark contrast to her uncle’s, which are bloody and painful.

Lucia sits up and looks over to her master, who’d lost his grip on her during the night. He tosses and turns, his skin gleaming in the faint moonlight which trickles in between the closed and latched shutters. He mumbles to himself, speaking of an “Odo”, and begs for forgiveness. What troubles him so?! Reaching out a clawed hand, she gently touches his shoulder. Before she can give him even the faintest shake, he yelps and bolts upright, startling her.

Her claws cut his flesh and the blood seeps from the wound. She’d clawed his back and sides during their passionate sex but she never cut him. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice. He stares at the wall and pants for air, his toned chest heaving. With a shaking hand, he feels the dampness of his hair. Lucia reaches out for him but her master climbs out of bed and heads for a bowl atop a small table near the shuttered window. What troubles her master so? Should she inquire or would that be improper?

Cupping his hands and dipping them into the water, he hastily washes the sweat from his face, neck and hair, then pulls his damp hands over his arms and chest before finally noticing the bleeding cuts. He appears perplexed by their origin.

“Master?” She finally speaks.

“Oh, by Adonai!” He gasps and spins around, nearly knocking the bowl onto the floor.

“Are you unwell?”

“... Lucia?!”

“Yes.” She nods.

He takes a moment to catch his breath, only to return to bed. Lying down beside her, he stares at the ceiling for a moment. To keep him cool, he leaves his nude form uncovered, lying there like a corpse.

“Master?”

“Emory... Just ‘Emory’... And I’m alright.”

“Mmrrmm!”

With her little whimper, she slithers deeper into the covers and lay on her side. The Vostii of the wolf-kin cuddles up to her master, keeping the covers off of his body but pressing herself against him and resting a hand upon her master’s chest. Perhaps her comfort will ease his troubled mind? Though he returns to sleep, it takes longer than Lucia was hoping; she succumbed to weariness before him. Celia awakens the next morning unaware of what had occurred.

Her sleep was deep and she didn’t worry for her uncle as she usually does. After making a simple breakfast, she leaves for work as if it were any other day. Lucia is now alone with her new master, who still has yet to rise. She awakens before him and sits beside him in bed, watching, staring. He doesn’t toss and turn, but the experience of the night before bothers her. Was this a mistake? In her eagerness to have an experience with a master, to lose her virginity and enjoy proper adulthood, had she become involved with a man who is not entirely well and perhaps even dangerous?

The truth of the matter is that if Emory had chosen her, she’d be there no matter what. Such is the life of a slave, even one as prestigious as a Companion. However, Lucia is certain her own interest is what ensnared him. Perhaps this was preventable? Emory awakens a short time later and briefly appears surprised by her presence. He greets her with a soft touch, rubbing the black stripe of fur on her back, and then embraces her. It’s clear that he’s grateful for her being there, as he offers to make her breakfast.

Lucia instead asks to cook for him. Emory accepts. Not knowing how to prepare many meals, however, Emory must teach her. Using an old cook book, he recites the steps for her, as none of the beast folk are capable of literacy. The day continues without incident, until Lucia, out of sheer curiosity, asks her new master how he makes wealth.

“I was once a carpenter...” He begins, looking into his empty bowl.

“Once? You are no longer carpenter?” Lucia cocks her head.

“But then I made a decision... We made a decision.”

“We?” She furls her brow.

Rising from his chair, he makes his way toward the armor on the shelf. She’d noticed it right away, including the very visible damage. The primal woman inside of her found it delightful. He’s survived battle, and likely killed with his own two hands! What a strong, capable master she now has! In truth, her bestial nature grew to lust after him the more she thought about it. Emory, however, sees the armor in a vastly different way, staring with eyes that well up with tears.

One finally escapes, cascading down his cheek. Lucia sees the gleam of the moist trail on his flesh and her primal woman snickers at the weakness, but his warmth has ensnared her civilized mind. Despite her baser instincts, the Vostii of the wolf-kin rises from her seat and approaches her master, eager to comfort him. Emory’s hand shakes as he tries to wipe his own tear away, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

“We joined the King’s army because of rumors of danger. We wanted to do our duty... At first, that’s what we did, watching the roads and taming the wild tribes of Vostii and Sabaarii at our borders... But then it happened. Our kingdom went to war with the Kingdom of the Ilium Rose...” He takes a deep breath, as if attempting to hold back tears. “That damn war... Odo and I, we joined the King’s army because we thought we needed to protect our home... It was just a lie, an excuse for that fat bastard to try and extend his borders...”

“Master?” She steps closer.

Reaching out for the armor, Emory’s lips contort, revealing his gritted teeth. Touching the plate metal, he suddenly leans forward. With a hand on a knee for his own support, his other hand grasps at his chest as he huffs and puffs. It’s as though he cannot breathe! He turns to her and looks up at the Vostii, and while her primal mind is thoroughly revolted by this clear display of weakness, she feels a new and more powerful instinct; the need to nurture her mate is overwhelming.

The tall wolfess pulls her human master into a warm embrace, a hand on the back of his head and petting him as his face rests near her bosoms. He throws his arms around her and clings to her like a frightened child. She can feel him shaking. It all but melts her heart. Lucia coos and nuzzles his head, then kisses his hair. Emory’s shaking gradually subsides, but not before several minutes of pained weeping. The tears collect in her fur and Lucia leads her master to his bed chamber.

She guides him to his bed and carefully sits him upon the edge, near the side he seems to prefer. Looking down at her master, she wonders if there is anything more she can do for him. Emory tilts his head back, turns his eyes up and toward her and then motions with his eyes. She obeys his silent command and sits beside him.

“I’m sorry... I apologize for...” He begins, still catching his breath.

“Are you ill?”

“I have these episodes... They began after I returned from the battles.” He answers, bowing his head as if ashamed.

“Did battles cause them?” She asks, leaning forward and cocking her head so that she may look up and into his eyes.

He stares at her for a moment, a strange look on his face. It’s as if he looks through her, focusing on an object many miles away. She sits up and looks toward the floor but sees nothing. Returning her attention to her master, he continues to stare. He doesn’t even blink. The glimmer in his eyes has faded, almost as if he were no longer alive. It unsettles her, but she is his Companion, his concubine, his slave. She is duty-bound to serve her master.

Reaching out with a clawed hand, she first brushes the hair away from his eyes, then lovingly caresses his back. Emory closes his eyes, responding to her affection in a most subdued way. It appears to be working, and then he speaks.

“Have you ever heard of fire dust?”

“No.” She quietly replies, shaking her head.

“Some have taken to calling it ‘gunpowder’. It’s the latest invention in the art of war... Some say the Hitrosii developed it while others say an alchemist sold the secrets to King Castor, to empower his throne. The Kingdom of the Ilium Rose is already the most powerful, as they’ve been allied with those damned elves of Chumar since Gerek brokered an alliance some two-hundred years ago... Gunpowder.”

“... What is it?” She hesitates to ask.

“It is... The most beautiful and horrifying creation of all time... ... When we first saw their ‘guns’, little more than tubes lit with burning wicks, it was perplexing. ‘Why would they point tubes at us and not crossbows?’ We asked ourselves. ‘Are they plumbers?’ We laughed... Then they ‘fired’, touching the glowing wicks to holes and creating powerful explosions!” Emory suddenly jumps up, startling her.

“Master?!”

“I watched the fire and the smoke, in awe of the show... And then it struck! Lead objects, called ‘bullets’, slammed into our armor and shields and weapons! Some of us fell, including myself! Others...” Emory's eyes grow wide, tears streaming down his cheeks as his speech grows increasingly energetic.

“What happened, master?”

“I saw one of these ‘bullets’ stuck in my breastplate! Another had cut my face!” He nearly shouts as he relives his past, a hand rubbing the small scar on his face. “I turned and grabbed my shield as a few more gunshots punched holes through it! Men were screaming, crying, begging for mercy... I-I turned to find him!”

“Who?”

“Odo... My closest friend. He and I joined the King’s army together... I swore to his little sister that I would protect him. He was all she had left...”

Emory’s expression changes from horror to agony. Dropping to his knees, he rests his hands upon his thighs and rocks slowly back and forth beside both the bed and Lucia’s legs. His head falls forward as he struggles to hold back tears. Lucia has never seen this before! She never expected this from her new master, and sits frozen on the bed. She slowly extends a hand but pulls it back only to try again, reluctant to touch and potentially startle the soldier who spirals deeper into his bizarre and emotional episode.

“Odo lay in the dirt, blood pooling around him. He’d been shot in the breastplate as well, but his... It did not save him...” He slowly lifts his head, the look of horror once again on his face. “I raced up to him on hands and knees, pulled at his armor as the enemy approached, and tore the metal from his chest! I threw it aside!” He shouts, raising clenched fists and pantomiming the acts, his eyes as wide as saucers. “I looked for the wound and found a hole! I saw something moving. I looked closer... It was his heart...”

Lucia covers her mouth as she attempts to imagine the sheer horror of what her master had endured.

“I watched his heart beating... Blood... Blood gushed from his mouth like water from a stream! ‘MOMMY! OH, MOMMY, SAVE ME!’ He screamed! I picked him up and held him. He spewed blood all over my face!” Emory continues, covering his face with his now trembling hands. “I tried to talk to him but it was as if he couldn’t see me... ‘Mommy... Mommy...’ His cries grew weaker... He died in my arms, begging for his mother, having already forgotten that she’d died two years before we joined the King’s army...

The enemy captured me and I was held with little food or water. Weeks... Perhaps months... I was held and beaten and starved until I was so weak that when my release was negotiated, I could hardly walk! I came home to tell his sister, Nanora, of my failure, only to learn that she’d lost their home due to unpaid debts... Debts... With Odo dead, his pension was not paid to her and she had no choice but to sell her home and live in the streets! I never saw her again, but a man told me she’d fallen to prostitution... I tried to find her, but...”

“Master...” Lucia whimpers, her civilized half moved beyond words.

“Nanora appears in my dreams... She comes to me, covered in filth and with the shadows of men standing around her. They paw at her and throw copper zakians at her feet... She speaks... She tells me, ‘Why wasn’t it you?! Why did Odo die and not you?! You had nothing to come back home to and yet you survived!’ I awaken and realize... She’s right!”

“No, master! She was not right!” Lucia insists.

Emory either ignores her or cannot hear her through the cacophony of his own memories.

“I cannot stop seeing Odo. He’s lying in the dirt, forever, constantly screaming... Begging for...”

Unable to hold back any longer, he collapses. Emory curls into the fetal position as he kneels atop the floor, weeping like a wounded child.

“‘Mommy... Mommy... Mommy...’ It never stops. ‘Where has my hand gone, mother?! I can’t feel my legs! Mommy, am I dying?! I’m scared! Mommy, help me!’ Over, and over, and over... That’s all they say! That’s all they ever say...” He sniffles. “And no one cares when we finally return home...”

Lucia sits on the bed and watches her master crumbling, shocked and confused by the scene. It leaves her shaken and uncertain of the future. All her life, she was raised as an entertainer and concubine. She’d learned how to sing and dance, memorized songs and poetry through recitation, and also learned how to play several instruments with considerable proficiency. These are already remarkable skills for a beast woman, but they serve a very specific purpose.

She can do so much to please her master, but nothing in her training has prepared her for nursing a wounded heart and troubled mind. She cannot even cook without her master’s guidance! How can she tend to the mental wounds of a damaged soldier, collapsing from the horrors of the blood, viscera and misery that he’d witnessed? Where does she even begin?! Suddenly, as if a spark igniting a flame, her instinct takes over. She may not know how to help him, but as a Vostii she understands one thing very well. Instinct.

Emory is her master, but he is far more than that. He’s the male, the other half of one whole. He is her provider, her protector and her companion. He gives her what she cannot have by herself, as she does for him. He’s the strong half, but even strength can buckle without support. As a female, it’s her duty to care and nurture, and nurture she shall. Reaching out for him, Lucia rests her clawed hands gently and loving upon Emory’s shoulder and upper back. With a soft shushing, she slowly slides off of the bed, kneels beside him and pulls the man into a warm embrace.

The wolfess rests her chin atop the crown of his head as Emory sobs into her bosoms, his arms wrapping around her. She comforts him as best as she can, softly kissing him and cooing into his ear. His grip tightens, and she knows that her efforts are bearing fruit.

“There, there... It is alright.” She whispers, her hands so tenderly petting him.

“It was so awful.” He weeps, clinging to her like a frightened child. “I’ve never felt such fear, seen such pain, nor endured a horror as grotesque as when I watched Odo die.”

“It is alright. You have survived, and you are safe, with me.”

“But why? Why did I survive?”

“Adonai, ‘The One’, spares many. We do not always understand reasons, but we must accept.”

“They teach you religion in the temple?” He sniffles and lifts his head to look into her eyes.

“We learn much.” She grins.

“I must look pathetic right now.” He suddenly remarks.

In that moment, a part of Lucia’s brain agrees with him. The cruel, primal beast within her desires only the strong and rejects the man’s tears. However, the equally primal and nurturing woman within, the woman who wishes to someday be a mother, she speaks into Lucia’s ear. With a warmth in her heart and a smile spreading across her snout, she nuzzles the top of his head before kissing it once more. With her hands grasping his head and pulling it against her bosoms, she shushes him yet again.

“You are not pathetic. You need only heal.”

Emory is speechless. The primitive creatures he’d been forced to slay were hardly socially adept, by human standards, but they were still very much loving toward their children and bonded mates. Their compassion is as strong as their primitive instincts, their love as potent and primal as their nature. Loving entities though they may be, Lucia’s warmth shocks him. What has he done to earn it?! Does he even deserve the tender care of a beast women?! He didn’t even have the means or wherewithal to buy her himself; she’s a gift from a man he doesn’t know, after groveling from his niece.

Though he feels so undeserving and unworthy, he cannot help but embrace what she offers. His arms give her another squeeze, causing her ears to perk. Turning her head, she glances to her side to watch as his arms contract. His grip is as comforting as it is jarring. It’s as though he were a man lost at sea, struggling to remain above the surface of the cold and unfeeling waves, only to find a life preserver and cling to it for dear life. She’s never been someone’s savior before. It feels nice.

Tilting his head back, he gazes up at her. Emory does his best to control his tears, despite reliving the nightmares of his past. She strokes his head with her dainty hands, her claws running through his hair. Inching closer, she taps her nose against his and the pair share a giggle. It’s as if a strong wind has come and blown away the gloomy clouds that hung above their heads! After the brief stare, Emory rubs his nose against hers, expressing his affection in a mild but appreciated way.

“Lucia...” He gulps.

“Yes, Emory?”

“You are... The best thing to happen to my life since even before I joined the King’s army.”

Her eyes widen at the compliment and her jaw drops. The warmth in her heart is indescribable. With that, Emory leans in and plants a powerful kiss on Lucia’s lips. Her heart races even faster. “This is only the beginning...” A voice in her mind begins. “This is a good man you have in your arms. An alpha in the making. Warm him, strengthen him. You have so many more years to spend with each other, your entire lives. Make them good...”

Part Five: Progress

Over the course of several weeks, Emory’s mental fortitude gradually improves. Lucia’s constant companionship and attentiveness help tremendously. The more he speaks with her about his nightmares, the less often they torment him. Though he still cannot resume his trade, a knot growing inside of his chest whenever he holds a blade of any kind, he’s eventually able to enjoy a full night’s sleep. These changes only encourage him to be more open, more forthright and more intimate with the Vostii who’s so drastically changed the course of his shattered life. He clings to the positivity she embodies.

Lucia finds herself equally effected by her experiences with her master. With every passing day, her tenderness and care ushers the change. Though he often crumbles in her arms, she lovingly places the pieces together and he always returns even stronger. The dichotomy of her primal and civilized minds make the extent of her feelings difficult to discern, but she knows for certain that she’s bound to him. Once he begins to share the other details of his past, the battles he’d endured and the enemies he’d slain, both voices quickly speak in unison.

Emory is a warrior, a killer, a man worthy of claiming her. However, he’s far more than that. He’s a gentle and kind man, the one who so willingly protects, provides and cares for her. He’s how a mate should be, and is already the sharer of her bed. As his trust and affection grows, so does her admiration and yearning. With every night of carnal passion, with every day of shared experiences and expressions of deep and unbridled affection, her feelings become more real, more powerful. Emory claims her heart for himself, ensuring that no one will ever intrigue her in the manner that he can. No one will persuade or lead her. She is his.

Celia does her best to monitor her uncle and his Companion, taking many notes and writing her reports. When it comes time to mail her letters to Lucian Bennett, it’s a consider stack. Nesta has no doubt that her employee takes her work very seriously, and with the strange turn of events the pair begin to share a bond. Nesta quickly apologizes for her behavior, making it clear that she was acting as per her duties, serving the company as she was commanded. The kindhearted Celia forgives her, and with Nesta’s favor, she begins to climb in rank, responsibility and also income.

Things continue this way for some time, with gradual but slow improvement. Every day Emory feels more like himself, more like the man who he was before his service in the King’s army. He owes all of this progress to Lucia’s patience, attentiveness, warm heart and loving embrace. It fills him with resolve but something troubles him, something unrelated to his past. He realizes very early in their relationship, almost immediately, that Lucia is a class above him, if not several. It becomes glaringly obvious the more she displays her trained talents.

Despite her being a beast woman, a creature naturally more primitive, more carnal and overall, less capable than humanity, she was groomed to live alongside nobility. In spite of her affection and the obvious attachment she has to him, he yearns to give her more. Lucia deserves the best, and yet he struggles to provide even the basics. These thoughts drive him mad and he decides that something must be done. The King’s army failed him, as it has failed so many others. The only hope he has is his trade.

However, merely touching a blade causes a knot to grow in the core of his chest, a pain to envelope his heart and invisible hands to squeeze his lungs until he has not a single breath of air. One day, a few months after bringing Lucia into his life, Emory sits at his workbench. It’s the first time in more than a year. He picks up his tools and touches a blade. The familiar agony of anxiety flows into him like a stream into a lake, but one glance into the main hall of his home changes everything.

Wearing her humble dress, a cheap garment unworthy of her elegance, Lucia dutifully and even happily works to maintain his home. She cleans a room whilst humming one of the many songs she’d been taught to sing to nobility. She turns and notices her master’s gaze, only to lift a hand, smile and wave. She continues with her work, ensuring that her master will be comfortable in his own home. It makes all the difference in the world. With clenched teeth, Emory gulps and fights back the pain he feels. He cannot fail her.

Placing the blade to wood, he begins to work and simply ignores his own suffering. He must, for her sake. Envisioning the most beautiful dresser he’s ever seen; Emory crafts it to the best of his ability. Lucia is elated to find him working for the first time since she’d met him, but refrains from interrupting. It allows him the time to adapt. After a day of labor, he rests beside his Vostii, the Companion, holding her beautiful form and smelling her sweet, feminine scent as he’s warmed by her soft and comforting embrace.

The following days see him returning to his workbench to complete the dresser, which he finishes in record time. Even Celia, who’d seen his work before he left to join the King’s army, is flabbergasted by the sheer beauty of his creation. With leash attached, Emory takes Lucia with him as he brings the dresser to market, quickly selling it to a man of means for a hefty sum. As he holds three golden zakians in his hands, the most he’s ever earned for his work, he cannot help but shake his head and sigh.

“What’s wrong, Emory?” Celia asks.

“You did good!” Lucia assures him.

“I know, it’s just... This is nearly double my pension. I made more than my monthly pension with only five days of work.”

His words cut Celia deeply. She’d never actually known what his pension was, only that it was meager and that the other soldiers struggled to survive on it. Actually seeing a quantity makes her heart ache for the other less fortunate soldiers. However, the sale of the dresser and his newfound ability to provide for Lucia fills Emory with resolve. He turns to his Vostii, looking up and into her eyes. He takes hold of her hands and tells the tall wolfess that he will work and continue to earn in order to give her the life she deserves.

Lucia is touched beyond words. What kind of man speaks like that to a woman he owns?! None are quite like her sweet and loving master. Upon returning home, Emory shows his affection for her in a most appropriate manner. As usual, Celia retreats to her bed chamber as her uncle and his Companion enjoy passionate, and on this occasion, exceptionally carnal sex. With her leash still attached, he dominates her in a manner that pleases her primal woman beyond words, and makes her civilized mind swoon.

After many pleasures, she can stand it no longer. Lucia begs her master for a reprieve as her upper body falls atop their bed, her master gripping her hips and her leash. Emory has outdone himself, and as passionate and long-winded a lover as he is, that’s saying something! Emory spills his seed deep within her, as he often does, then rests beside her only to roll her over and pull her into his arms. The couple spend their time cuddling in their bed, nuzzling and sharing many soft and tender kisses and licks.

“That was wonderful, Emory.” She coos.

“I give you the very best.” He teases, lovingly smacking her furry buttocks.

“Hehe! You do! This is fun position, but I also greatly enjoy facing you.” She looks up at him and bats her eyelashes.

“Truly?”

“Mhm! I enjoy holding you and kissing your lips when you spill your seed inside me.” She coos, rubbing her nose against his.

“You are very sweet, Lucia. There are none quite like you.” He speaks so softly and sweetly before kissing her lips.

Lucia feels herself flushing, her heart warming with each and every word. The more this happens, the more entwined she feels. She realized some time ago that she was deeply in love with her master, so much so that she would perform the ancient and sacred ritual of bonding. However, she has yet to speak the words, as Emory has also failed to do.

“Oh!” She suddenly perks up. “Pardon me. I must prepare tea.” She says as she pulls the covers from her legs and begins to climb out of bed.

“Wait!” Emory reaches out and rests a hand on her arm.

“Hmm?!” She stops and looks back.

“Don’t...”

“What?”

“Do not make the tea.” He elaborates.

“But... But if I do not...”

“I know.”

Lucia is speechless. Why would her kind and loving master make such a request?! Her heart races at the thought of his answer, but imagining is not enough. She needs to hear it.

“Are you certain, Emory?!”

“You don’t like the tea, and I will never force you to drink it.”

“But... What of your seed?” She cannot help but ask, waiting for the words.

“I spill it where it belongs.” He flashes a little smile, his hand moving from her arm and resting over her belly. “If you should find yourself with child, then I suppose we will have a child.”

Her eyes grow wide. Every woman of the beast races yearns for the moment they will feel a life growing inside of their womb, and now her master offers the wondrous gift so freely, so willingly! She rolls to face him, throws her arms around him and locks him in tight embrace.

“Oh, Emory! I love you!” She exclaims, unable to refrain any longer. “You are truly good master!”

“I love you too.” He replies, speaking the words for the first time.

“You do?! Truly?!?!” She pulls back and looks into his eyes, unable to hide her smile.

“Yes. I should’ve said it a long time ago, and it’s been true for a long time. I love you, Lucia. You’ve changed my life. You give me the strength to breathe.” He confesses, his face softened but his eyes deadly serious.

“Aww!” She gushes, her eyes glossy with joyous tears. “Master! Your love touches my very soul!”

“I have never loved a woman more than I love you... But I’m not your master.”

“Hmm?!”

“I cannot own someone I love so much...” He smiles as he strokes her cheek. “If anything... I’m your mate.”

Lucia’s eyes nearly pop out of her head, her heart skipping several beats at his statement. Not only does he proclaim his love for her, but he all but seals their bond as a mated pair, or in human terms, husband and wife. She never thought this would happen; all those years in the temple, the teachers routinely warn the girls against love. They are entertainers and concubines; they are beautiful bodies for the nobles to enjoy at their leisure. They are not wives, and yet here she is, Emory’s proclaimed mate. The glee is such that she trembles.

“Lucia? Are you alright?” He asks upon seeing her shaking.

Lucia wants to answer but she cannot. The words are gone. Instead, she pounces on her mate and bombards him with kiss after passionate kiss. Things will be different now. She will wear a collar and tags, but only because it’s what’s required by law. She no longer belongs to Emory as a concubine but lives with him, the female half of an alpha couple. Emory is her mate, her husband, and this is now her home as much as it is his. What a life she has found herself in, cherished and appreciated as she’s always hoped she’d be. How many children will they have?! Does he desire as many as her?! That’s when it occurs to her...

“Emory, our children...” She nervously gulps. “Will they... Is it safe for us to make children?!”

“This kingdom doesn’t regulate the Polotan or Tretik. Half-breeds and the other human hybrids have agency, and if they struggle because of their lineage, I will take us to a place where they won’t. I would do that for my family. I would do that for you.” He assures her, a hand so lovingly caressing her cheek before passionately kissing her lips.

Celia cannot help but smile as she overhears their conversation from the hallway where she’d perched herself. It’s almost time for the fourth monthly report, and this is a considerable update! After their declarations of love, Emory seems thoroughly changed. Though he still has nightmares on occasion, they no longer trouble him and are simply a glimpse of a bad time in his life. The more he accepts his past as the past, and embraces Lucia and the future they’ll share, the better he is.

Meanwhile, Lucia takes to her new role as Emory’s mate like a fish to water. As his wife, she’s his second in the household, above Celia. Though Lucia is and has always been a sweet and kind woman, she’s still of the beast folk and in her primal way can be quite demanding. Their simple, social hierarchy is a challenge for humans to accept, and being commanded by the tall and powerful wolfess perturbs her. Thankfully, Celia has saved much of her income, despite initially having to help support her uncle and his Companion.

With money to spare, and the help of a thoughtful and handsome young man who lives only a few houses down, Celia moves out of her uncle’s house and into a little house of her own. It’s for the best, especially as Celia grows closer to the young man, to the point of occasionally sharing a bed. The fact that Lucia has missed her last monthly cycle only reinforces her decision. Soon, that other bed chamber will be needed by someone else! Though Emory no longer needs it, Celia visits him often.

Truthfully, she does it more for herself. It brings a smile to her face to see how much he’s improved and to witness all of the work he accomplishes. Many of his pieces are beautiful, truly befitting of royalty. The dramatic increase to his income allows him to do as he’d always pledged, and Lucia, her belly now showing the faintest of bumps, answers the door in an elegant and flowing gown.

“Hello!” The wolfess chirps, looking down at the dainty human.

“Hi!”

“Good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too. I see you’ve gained a little weight!” Celia glances at Lucia’s belly.

“Yes.” The Vostii of the wolf-kin flashes a toothy grin, a clawed hand resting over her belly. “More and more it shows.”

“Emory must be cooking something very delicious.” She teases, patting Lucia’s furry belly.

“Very funny...” The wolfess rolls her eyes. “If I have daughter, do not expect her to have your name.”

“My name sounds like a vegetable, anyway.” Celia giggles.

“Here to visit Emory?”

“I can also visit you!”

“Good. As my babies grow, I could use help around house.”

“Never mind! I’m here to see Emory.”

“Mhm...” Lucia smirks and leads Celia inside. “It is good you are here. Letter came for you.”

“Oh?!” Celia perks up.

“There is familiar symbol on seal. You will want to read this.” Lucia remarks, presenting the letter.

Celia’s eyes widen as she examines and then feels the seal. It’s the Bennett family’s coat of arms. She’d mailed her reports through Nesta, but never received any replies. This is only the second time Lucian Bennett has written to her.

“Husband!” Lucia calls out.

“Coming!”

Emory emerges from his workshop, only to grin at the sight of his niece. She turns to him and lifts the letter.

“Well, are you going to open it or stand there all day? With your arms out like that, you make a good coat rack.” He teases.

“Hehe!” Lucia leans into him.

Breaking the seal, Celia removes the letter from the envelope and begins to read it aloud.

“Dear Celia,

I have read your reports and am very pleased to hear of your uncle’s progress. His well-being, and the effect the Companion ‘Lucia’ has had on him, have prompted me to draft a program. As promised, I have sent word to every Temple of the Companions and instructed them to begin the ‘Returning Warrior Discount Program’, which will offer the unwanted Companions to veterans for one-fourth the normal cost. Only warriors in genuine need will be eligible, men who suffered as your uncle has. I have used your notes on Lucia’s behavior, and with the help of the best and brightest minds have developed a new course of training. The unwanted Companions will be coached in how to handle the difficulties of their potential masters, and better prepared for life with warriors and the lower classes. Furthermore, I am greatly impressed by your diligence and enthusiasm, and your passionate attempts have given me cause to follow your career closely. I am certain that you have a bright and prosperous future with the Temple of the Companions.

Sincerely,

Lucian Bennett, the Ninth.”

Slowly lowering the letter, Celia is left in shock and awe. She never anticipated things to unfold in this manner! Not only has Lucian Bennett helped her achieve her goal of saving her uncle, he’s kept his word and even hinted at a brighter future! It would seem that The Order’s teachings of Adonai’s mysterious workings is true! Despite the struggles, her life, her uncle’s life, and even the lives of Lucia and the other Companions overlooked and deemed ‘unwanted’ will be filled with hope!

“Congratulations!” Emory chirps, embracing his niece.

“You did very good!” Lucia adds, joining her mate.

“I cannot believe this!” Celia giggles, caught between her uncle and his Vostii lover. “This is wonderful news!”

“Just don’t forget about us when you’re a rich and powerful noblewoman in service to the Bennett’s... You can forget about my brother, though!” Emory jests.

“I’ll never forget about any of you! No... This is my chance to really do something good... I could really make a difference!” Celia’s eyes light up.

Sitting beside an ornate, marble fireplace, a young man looks toward the crackling flames with cold, emerald eyes. His black-clawed fingers tap the armrest of his gilded throne, a seat more elegant than that used by kings. Before his throne is a desk of equal elegance, his marble and bejeweled home as decadent as could be. His black canine nose twitches as he smells the sweet aroma of the scented logs. It’s a warm night, but he’s always enjoyed the sensation of a fire warming his charcoal-colored fur, which covers much of his body.

A frustrated sigh causes his ears to perk. Lucian Bennett the Ninth looks toward his mother. She’s now the matriarch of the family, with his grandmother’s recent demise. Her ears droop and her tail hangs low, her arms crossed as she looks upon her young son with disappointment. Barely an adult, the teenager brushes the long and shaggy black hair from his eyes and smiles. His mother, a Polotan, is the product of her human father taking a Vostii of the wolf-kin, one of the very best of the Companions, as his second wife.

Left without a male heir, despite many attempts, Lucian Bennett the Eighth thought that new blood was needed. He chose one from his nearly two dozen daughters, half of whom are also Polotan, electing his firstborn half-breed to continue his work. In the hopes of repairing their family lineage, she was compelled to further enhance the bloodline. Lucian’s mother used a Vostii of the wolf-kin to sire her son. He was but a nameless slave; healthy, strong and well-endowed but without any standing or living relatives. He also shared her black hair and emerald eyes; a trait the Bennett’s have had since the beginning.

By law, only a male’s seed carries with it the family name and titles. A cover story was created and documents drafted, however suspect they may be. Payments were made to conceal any evidence to the contrary. Despite this unconventional situation, Lucian Bennett the Ninth now has legal claim to the dynasty, and with his grandfather’s health now failing him, the Tretik is preparing to lead. Though he’s only a quarter human, he has the intellect of humanity and also the primal instincts of his nameless, slave father, who conveniently disappeared shortly after his birth.

His mother, ever the strong and ambitious woman, never mourned her lover. He was but a means to an end, as are most things in life. She begins tapping a humanoid foot, her cold, greens eyes narrowing at her son as her clawed fingers squeeze the crook of her elbows to the point of scratching her pale, human skin. The lips of her short hairless snout peel back as she silently growls. Young Lucian cannot help but chuckle at her motherly intimidation, inspired by the primitive half of her mixed blood.

“What?” He laughs, flashing a sharp-toothed grin, his bushy tail swaying through the gap at the back of his throne.

“You know what... Your new program will cut into our profits!”

“Mother...”

“You know I’m right.” She retorts.

“Grandfather trained me well. He taught me all that he knows, and when I father a son, I will teach my heir all my grandfather taught me.” Lucian begins.

“Did he teach you how emotions can ruin a business?” She snaps, her wolf-like fangs protruding.

“Yes, but he also taught me how emotions can benefit a business, and about perception.” Lucian raises a clawed finger.

“What?”

“Perception is the most important thing for a business, as it evokes feelings. How people feel is very important, therefore, their perception of our family and our company is very important... For instance, if we sold the lowest quality of our stock at a fraction of the cost, we would lose a tremendous amount of money in the years of food, healthcare and training. However, if we sell them to soldiers, some of the most downtrodden men of society, we’ll be perceived as sympathetic and caring! People will think of our family and company and imagine it filled with sensible and compassionate people, not greedy and cold-hearted bastards who only think about profits. It will give them positive and warm feelings.”

“... And what of that girl you’ve been corresponding with?” She asks, moving around the desk and approaching his throne.

“Celia? I’ll promote her! I’ll give her power! With her naivety and passion, she’ll make us look truly sympathetic and compassionate, more than I ever could. Also, the public tends to trust the face of young women more than men, so she may become an ideal mascot. That will increase public perception and could dramatically increase our sales!” Lucian chirps.

“I was wrong, son... You’re ready to lead this family, after all.” His mother coos, loving scratching his wolf-like ears.

“I know.” Lucian flashes a sinister grin.