DESCRIPTION

SEVEN thought it was bad enough being owned by a cruel slaver. But then their landlord returns to reclaim his territory and brings a fresh hell. This alien landlord is all muscles, mean scowls, scars, and a rumbling, deep voice. When her slaver sells her to the landlord to sate his anger, Seven is sure she won't make it through the night. Especially when his heated glare seems locked on her.

MALIK thought his life would quiet down after retiring from the military. But upon returning to his land, he finds his home occupied by a slaver. Desperate to bargain for his life, the slaver thrusts a brown-eyed human girl into Malik's arms in exchange for his life. A girl who stirs confusing feelings in him he had never felt before.

THE CAPTAIN'S SLAVE PART  1 | MALIK'S POV

I run the last lap around the camp, the other masters closely behind me. As usual, I took the lead. It's a bad habit I've never been able to shake off. When I'm running, my mind clears and my body takes over. My legs pump like I'm running from something. To this day, I don't know what.

I've been in this camp for years, serving as a master. I've seen everything from torture and death to a war General losing his heart to a female that's not of our kind. A human female named Joan with strange quirks, skin, and pets.

I think she considers us friends even to this day–even with my callousness. I've insulted and pushed her away. At the beginning, I coined her as foolish and selfish. I was right about one of those things. She is foolishly brave.

She is the closest I got to a female friend. All the other females in my life have been entertainers that I fucked and forgot. And yet I've never formed a bond with her; never formed an attachment.

I have realiazed that I am dead inside. The only difference between me and a corpse is that my body is lined with muscle. I thought that I would feel more alive if I fought for a cause and joined the war. But I've made no difference.

Maybe I'm dead inside—an empty vessel—because of the numbing medication I'm addicted to.

But I can't stop taking numbing meds. After seeing so much fucked up suffering and death, I'm afraid of what will catch up to me. I might lose my fucking mind and throwing myself ontop a sword to end it all like other masters have.

As I walk back to camp, an entertainer smiles seductively. She sees paradise in my embrace. Too busy staring at my cock tenting my pants to see the emptiness in my eyes.

I almost take her up on her offer. Sex and eating are the only time when I feel a glimpse of joy; of life.

But I don't have the time. General War has summoned me to his tent. It has been a few months since he and Joan defeated a deranged god. There has been a change in him, but I don't know what, and I'm not very interested in finding out.

I've got enough mysteries of my own to worry about another master.

I reach his tent and announce myself. He steps outside with Joan, who greets me.

"Hey, Malik."

I nod at her respectfully, and she walks off.

General War's eyes follow her for a while. I never understood why.

"Malik," he says, looking around the camp. "You've been a master for quite some time, haven't you?"

"Yes."

He inhales deeply. "Times have changed. The war is calming, and I'm not who I used to be. I'm distracted now. Dedicated to my female."

I clasp my hands behind my back and purse my lips, seeing where this conversation is going.

I figured this day would come. General War is a few years older than me, and he's in love. He has hope for a future. He can lay his head down at night and dream. Meanwhile, I close my eyes and see nothing for hours on-end. I can't see a future past tomorrow. I'm dead as a fucking rodent.

The General used to be the same way. Dead. Calloused. He is softer now because of Joan. More compassionate.

"The camp needs a new General," he says. "It must be you."

I feel nothing, although I should be honored that he is choosing me as his successor when there are dozens of masters in this camp.

For a few seconds, I stare at him. Our frames are similar. He's wearing grey hide similar to mine, except that a hole is neatly patched. Masters don't care about wayward threads or holes in our hide. We only care about our silver. I religiously polish my blades until I can see my dead eyes in the reflection.

My hides and leathers are well-worn. I don't have a female human insisting on patching them. This is the difference between the General and I.

"I cannot. I cannot be a General."

He looks surprised by this. "You have been loyally rising through the ranks for years."

I nod. "And that is why I have been preparing to request dismissal from service. I wish to sever my ties from the army, not tighten them."

He looks troubled, but he cannot deny me. It would be dishonorable, given everything I've given. All the scars I've taken to shield the camp.

"Joan will be sad."

I know she will be, because she thinks I'm her friend. She feels an affection for me that I'm too fucked up to reflect. I am broken.

The General curses and looks away. "This is not what I had been expecting, but you know that I cannot deny you considering your exemplary service."

"Thank you. I will retire in the upcoming weeks."

"Will you say goodbye to Joan?"

I consider lying, but I don't want to get anyone's hopes up.

"I don't think that will be a good idea."

War dips his head, although based on his pused lips and narrowed eyes, he judges my decision as cruel. He doesn't demand otherwise, although Joan deserves more.

But I don't want to see her sadness. I just want to fucking run.

– • –

I slowly pack over the next few weeks. I train every morning and fulfill my duties until my last sunset at the camp. Then I pick my saddlebags and walk past the gates.

I feel nothing as I leave what has been my home for the past few years.

I've said no goodbyes because that would be too permanent; too real.

I trod out of the camp on the back of a beast with my saddlebags. Buying it was no problem. I've gained a fortune after so many years serving the camp.

My land is in the east. I've been away for years, leaving it neglected, that I don't know what I'll return to. The house must be overrun with wildlife–if it's even standing. I will have to rebuild from scratch.

I'm not looking forward to the silence and solitude, but I don't have a choice. I have nothing to my name except piles of gold buried across the territory that could buy me the company of a few whores at best. I have no family. Not even a fucking pet.

I ride fast and hard, only stopping to allow the beast to rest. He doesn't need many breaks. He seems excited to be liberated from the camp's corrals, running freely through nature.

It takes five days of hard riding to reach the village of Osanhi. My hands feel rougher than usual from clutching onto the reins, and my hair is matted from the mix of rainwater and dirt.

The first thing I'll do is plunge into the waterfall to wash away my filth.

I skirt around the village to reach my land, not wanting to alert anyone of my return just yet–a knack from my days as a soldier, I suppose.

"Retired," I chuckle dryly.

I'll wield a sword and keep my head on a swivel until the day I drop dead. After surviving so much death, there's no retirement for me. I will always live on edge.

I stop at a hill and look at my land. The house is still standing, but there's a curious feature that I've never owned: crop rows. Someone has been farming on my land.

Someone has claimed my home.

I growl, furious by the invasion. I inherited nothing from my forefathers. I worked hard to purchase this land, and no one will take advantage of the blood and sweat I've shed.

Instinct takes over, and it feels like I'm in a battlefield all over again, staring down enemy forces. I scan the distance for more clues about the invaders, but don't have to look far. A male and female step out of the front door.

I ride down the hill like a demon, raising a dust cloud. I want to let them see that a storm is coming.

The man yells at the female to return to the house. I jump off the beast with my sword gripped tightly in my calloused hand, and my eyes promising murder.

"What are you doing in my home?" I growl, raising the sword and preparing to swing.

"Please, please! I thought it was abandoned!" The man raises his hands. "I'll pay you!"

I swing the sword, cutting his top knot clean off his head. His hair falls at his feet.

"How long have you been here?"

"For... a few years?"

Wrong answer.

I swing again.

"I'll give you a slave! A top tier one! I beg of you, please negotiate."

"Slaves?" I spit. "You brought slaves to my fucking home?"

The very thing I've been fighting against in the camp.

His eyes widen and he scrambles to answer. "Eh... more like indentured servants. The girl owes me a debt. But she can be all yours and you can call her whatever you want! She's an exotic beaut." He turns his head, his choppy hair flipping. "Seven! Come out here!"

Seven? He named her after a number?

Ancestors. I'm going to turn my fucking land into a graveyard by burrying this motherfucker and all his accomplices.

Footsteps echo on the hardwood floors. Slow and tentative, until familiar, brown eyes appear.

Only humans have brown eyes. I scan her quickly and discover that she's not entirely human; she's mixed. I also discover that the slaver was not lying. She is a beaut.

"She's all yours. My debt to you is paid, sir."

MALIK'S STORY IS NOW ON EXCLUSIVELY PATREON.COM/ANCIENTT

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