Pulling on enough clothing to maintain some sense of regal propriety, he stepped outside his chambers where one of the perpetual guards was standing at attention. Only the most seasoned and decorated military personnel were allowed to guard the king’s chamber. It was an honor and a privilege, and Dominax knew each of the six who had been assigned to the position personally.
“Alf,” he greeted the soldier. “Have you seen a human? Looks like a short Homelander without wings.”
“Yes, sire,” Alf said. “She asked me where she could get something to fucking eat, as she put it. I directed her toward the kitchens.”
“She is my new pet. Did you not see the collar?”
“I did, sire. But I thought it best not to disturb your slumber, and she did not seem to be in any way dangerous.”
Dominax did not engage in further conversation. The guard had not done anything particularly wrong, though it was best that new pets were not left to roam. The palace was the safest place on all Homeworld, but there were still dangers inside it, especially for a pet like Katie.
It was his fault for not briefing the guard. He had gotten caught up in the carnal delights of the human’s body and failed to attend to practical matters. She was quite the distraction, his little human.
“WHERE ARE THE POTATOES? THERE MUST BE POTATOES.”
He heard the shrill tones of a human throwing a tantrum, and knew he had found his pet.
She was in the kitchen, where the head cook was looking confused and annoyed at the naked young woman who was, against all reason and logic, hovering perilously near a vat of boiling oil.
“Katie!” He used her name sharply. “What are you doing?”
She turned around, unrepentant. “Showing these people with wings how to make fries. You gotta get the oil really fucking hot, see?”
“Sire, who is this?” The cook gave Dominax a confused and annoyed look to go with the question.
Cook was very protective of his kitchen. He was known to fling undercooks out of the windows if they displeased him. But Katie had a sort of determination about her which had the effect of steamrolling those who did not know her very well — and the collar around her neck essentially protected her from any repercussions.
“This is Katie. She is my newest pet. I am sorry she managed to infiltrate your kitchen.”
“She has ruined almost all of my best cookware,” Cook said with the same intonation someone might use if they were saying their entire family had died all at once.
“That’s enough, pet,” Dominax said. “Come here. You should not be bothering the staff. I have not made a formal introduction yet. There are protocols to be followed.”
“Who cares about protocols,” she scowled at him. “I’m hungry. And these Homelanders, or whatever you call yourselves are no fucking help. I told this guy” —she jerked her thumb at the cook— “I told him I was hungry, right? And he said he didn’t have any human food, so I tried to make some myself. But this bitch kept whining.”
Dominax grabbed her by the back of the neck and yanked her bodily out of the kitchen. Cultural differences aside, cursing at the staff was never going to be tolerated.
“You do not refer to the artist who makes our food as a bitch,” he growled, picking her up underneath his arm so she could not make any more trouble. “Were you not in the culinary arts in your previous life?”
“My previous life was yesterday, bitch.”
Something was wrong with his pet. She had been in possession of an attitude when they met, but she wasn’t belligerent like this. Now that he looked more closely and listened more carefully, he couldn’t help but notice that her words had a slight slur to them, and her eyes were bloodshot.
“Are you intoxicated, human?”
“Yeah. I found something to drink. I was thirsty and hungry, bitch.”
At that moment, cook emerged from the kitchen. His black wings were pinned back in irritation, and his dark eyes were likewise narrowed, arched brows raised with the expression of a Homelander who wants vengeance.
“Does sire require help with his pet?”
“Sire does not. She can go in her kennel until she sobers up.”
And that was how Katie found herself in a small, barred enclosure with nothing but water in a bowl and a hole in the far corner clearly intended for the elimination of waste. The cage had been hiding behind a curtain in the royal chamber, not a dozen feet from the bed where they had fallen asleep in one another’s arms.
Dominax opened the kennel door and tossed her in there with an easy motion which demonstrated his superior strength. She landed on the soft padded floor, glad for the soft landing, but thoroughly pissed at being incarcerated.
“Brat,” he growled as he closed the door behind her.