"I went to the kitchens and they told me to find the housekeeper," I explain quickly. "Lord Sir wants me cleaned and dressed up. I think he has company coming and he's going to trot me out in front of them."
"No," Crulden says automatically, as if we have any control. "You belong to me. They said so."
"It's just a little game they're playing," I tell him, putting my hand on his sweaty, hairy chest. When did his big, hairy body become so damn sexy? I thought I was into clean-faced, well-groomed men back home, but I love Crulden's wildness. I love the thick mat of hair on his chest and his big hairy thighs. It's just part of who he is, and I love his ugly, brutal face because it hides the best, most protective, most vulnerable man underneath. "I need you to listen," I say softly. "Will you do that? For me?"
His nostrils flare, over and over again, and I can tell he's trying to get himself under control. There's still far too much red in his eyes, so I stand calmly in the cradle of his arms, my hand on his chest, and I wait.
When the red leaches from his eyes and his breathing slows, he nods at me. "I'll listen."
"Lord Sir has guests coming," I whisper. "All the slaves are up in arms, preparing all kinds of food, so it must be someone important. I think that's why I'm supposed to be dressed like this and hang out with him. Remember I'm the pet someone gave him? He's probably just showing me off as a mark of pride, like one of his stupid vases. Once that's done, he'll return me to your side. But that means you have to keep going like nothing has changed, all right? No freaking out, no attacking the guards. We don't want to give them a reason to separate us again. Understand?"
He grits his teeth, his tusks shifting against his face. "I don't like it."
"Oh, baby, I don't like it either," I say with a little laugh. "Trust me."
Crulden's gaze suddenly pins me. "What did you call me?"
I blink. "Oh. I called you 'baby.' It's a human term of affection. You call your partner that. It's something soft and sweet between the two of you. A term of endearment." I run my fingers through his chest hair. "You're nothing like a baby, trust me."
"But I am…your baby? In the endearment way? The partner way?"
Licking my lips, I nod. "You're mine and I'm yours," I whisper. "We just have to get through a few more days, I promise. Then we'll…figure something out." I don't know what, but something. "Okay, baby?"
His big hand covers mine. It's slightly sweaty and sandy from his exercises, but I love it. "I like it when you call me that instead of Crulden. It feels like mine, when his name isn't."
My heart aches at that. "When we get away from here, we'll find a new name for you," I promise. "Until then, we just have to hold on a bit longer." I keep my voice low, glancing at the nearby guards. "Can you…will you go back to the ring and practice like everything is normal? For me?"
The red flares in his eyes again, but his expression remains calm. "You swear to me you'll be safe? That no one will hurt you?" His gaze flicks over my clothing again. "This is not what a pet dresses like."
I know it's not, but I'm clinging desperately to the hope that it's all for show. "It's going to be fine," I promise him. "Just wait for me to come back, okay?"
Crulden nods reluctantly, and I'm able to breathe again.
"I'll miss you," he murmurs. "Can I take it out on them?" He indicates the guards with his chin.
I chuckle. "Anything goes in the ring, but only in the ring."
"Damn it." But he picks my hand up and presses it to his mouth, those lips that never close right over his obscene tusks, and gives me the best kiss on the hand that he can.
And I'll take it, gladly.
Lord Sir is in an absolutely garbage mood when I find him. He's in his quarters, his personal servant brushing his long, dark hair for him. He frowns at the sight of me, as if I still don't pass muster. "Do something with her hair, will you? She looks vile. No one's going to believe she's a pampered pet."
Immediately, the servant—a female with fluffy pale feathers covering her body and a long, slinky gray robe—moves to my side. I've seen her around the compound once or twice, but she doesn't mingle with the rest of us, and I notice there's no slave collar on her. She parks me onto a stool, grabs a comb, and starts to rip it through my hair. "All is in preparation for Lord va'Rin's arrival," the bird-servant says in a sweet voice. I try not to flail as she jerks on a knot, my scalp lighting up in pain. "What else can I do to ease your burden, Lord Sir?"