by Lynn Lorenz
Ashland looked into his eyes. “No, Master.” Murphy put the gun away.
“Good.” He gave a quick smile, and this time Ashland smiled back.
Chapter Three
Ashland praised Luna for his good fortune as they moved through the underground hallways running between the slave-market building and the fighting-arena complex called the Coliseum. Ashland’s long legs ate up the distance as the trio moved in and out of the light of the overhead fluorescents, into the deep shadows where the tunnels broke off to parts unknown. At least to Ash. He’d never been anywhere, except the Coliseum and the slave markets.
Anticipation of his new quarters, his new life, and the chance to fight in the arena again, even if it was just sparring, kept him from slowing his pace.
The older man, Murphy, fought to keep up, but Stoltz never left Ashland’s side. Ash wasn’t leading, but he wasn’t being led, either. It was odd how he felt just walking next to Stoltz. His owner was shorter than he, but well built. Probably a fighter himself, in the human boxing rings. The broken nose gave him away. Or maybe one of his slaves had given it to him.
Ash glanced to his side and down, checking out Stoltz’s hands. Large, powerful, but not scarred. Maybe he wasn’t a boxer. Mixed martial arts? If he was a trainer, he’d have to know something about fighting, wouldn’t he?
Afraid to ask, knowing he had no right to open his mouth and speak unless spoken to, Ash swallowed the dozens of questions swimming in his mind.
Did he own more slaves? Would they be kept together? If not, would Ash get his own quarters? Would his master be training Ash? Or the old man?
Ash hoped it would be Stoltz. He wasn’t sure he liked the other man. He kept watching Ash, frowning, though he’d seemed pleased Stoltz had bought Ash.
They came to a tunnel with a sign pointing the way to the Coliseum, and Stoltz veered off down the long hall, Ash at his side and the elder trainer bringing up the rear.
Ash knew it would take time to reach the huge complex, and that there would be guards stationed along the route. The frequency of slaves traveling down this same route demanded increased security.
Up ahead, just as he’d remembered—two guards, dressed in black armored vests and helmets, holding stun weapons, stood on either side of the massive doors to the complex. Nothing but a stun rifle could handle an out-of-control werewolf. It didn’t damage, but it did render them helpless until the chains could be put on them or while the guard beat them.
Stoltz flashed them his badge.
The men nodded to Stoltz and stepped up to pull open the doors so they could enter. They focused their attention on Ash and tightened the grips on their rifles. After all, Ash was big, unchained, and unfamiliar to them. They weren’t taking chances.
Ash smiled at them, giving a slight hint of his canines, enjoying even this small amount of fear and respect. He’d have been pissed if they’d ignored him as if he were a werewolf unworthy of their concern.
Even in his sorry state, he had a little bit of pride left.
Down another hallway, to a bank of elevators. Above, on ground level, sat the Coliseum itself, where the fights were held every week during the season. Below, several stories underground, were the slave quarters, training facilities, guard housing, management offices, and building facilities. Heat, power, and light were all controlled in the slave quarters.
Ash had lived there before, under Durio’s rule. The cramped, outdated room was all his previous owner could afford. A tiny bathroom with a sink, toilet, and shower stall that barely fit him was the only other room. The kitchen was merely a half-size fridge, a two-burner cooktop, and a sink. There had been a broken couch for Ash to sit on, a stained mattress on the floor, and the chains dangling from the ceiling.
Cold dread ran through his veins at the memory. Durio loved using those chains. He’d used Ashland on the couch, bent over the counter, even in the bathroom. He’d wanted Ash to know who was master and who was slave, and in doing so he’d made every inch of the quarters hated.
Ash couldn’t close his eyes without reliving each encounter, so he’d taken to sleeping on the floor in a corner to avoid the memories held in the mattress or the couch.
Stoltz pushed the down button, and they waited.
“You were lucky to get the quarters you got, Dan,” the other man said.
Dan. His name is Dan. Dan Stoltz.
He’d never known Durio’s first name. As for werewolves, they only had first names. No formal last names. Just lineage. Only humans had two names. And freedom. Unless they went so far outside the law and were sentenced into slavery to pay for their crime. It didn’t happen often, and Ash had never met a human slave, but he’d heard about it from other slaves.
The elevator opened, and they stepped inside. The floors were labeled—Arena, Offices, Training, Quarters. Under Quarters were three levels. Ash couldn’t write—that was a free man’s skill, and required a true education—but, like most young slaves, he had been taught to read simple words for his masters’ convenience.
Stoltz pushed the button for level two. Ash had lived on level three, the lowest, cheapest, and smallest. So maybe this would be better. Decent, even. Not first level—that was for the more experienced werewolves, champions, and the quarters were said to be fine.
Ash would settle for decent.
The door opened, and Stoltz exited. Ash followed, and so did Murphy.
The air underground didn’t exactly stink, but it wasn’t fresh. Huge air exchangers brought fresh air down into the levels and circulated it, but by the time it reached the slave quarters, stale and sweaty was what Ash’s sensitive nose called it.
“Here.” Stoltz stopped in front of a door. On the side were a doorbell and a blank name plate. “I’ll get that fixed in a day or so.” He said it to Ash, as if Ash had the right to anything.
“Yes, Master.” What else could Ash say? “You’d better”?
He stepped to the side, against the wall, and waited as Stoltz opened the door with his entry code. A slave didn’t have the freedom to enter or leave his own rooms. Once Ash went inside, he could leave only with Stoltz or an armed guard.
The light flickered green, and Stoltz pushed it open. “Let’s see if it’s okay.”
Ash frowned. Even if it wasn’t okay, he’d never speak of it. Talking without being asked led to beatings. Beatings led to chains, and chains led to…
Ash’s heart pounded as he peeked around the corner of the door. His gaze sought them out, the chains hanging from the ceiling. He blinked and stared again. Nothing.
He took a step inside, until Murphy pushed him. “Come on. Get in. Nothing in there to hurt you.” He placed a hand on Ash’s back and with gentle pressure moved Ash forward.
“It’s pretty nice as quarters go, I think.” Stoltz looked around and grinned. He seemed to want Ash’s approval.
“Better than my last quarters.” Ash nodded. “A real bed.” He walked over to it and touched it, pressing down on the mattress sitting on a raised platform. Soft. The blankets didn’t scratch, and they even looked warm.
“I had the fridge stocked. There should be enough food to last a week, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but only meat for two meals per day.” Stoltz opened the fridge to show Ash.
Ash nodded. Food for a week? Holy Luna. Fuck. He’d never seen so much food at one time.
The room was large, with a couch and an armchair, both in good condition. A table and two wooden chairs to eat at also. The kitchen ran along the back wall, with the counter interrupted by a real stove.
“Does the kitchen work?” Ash asked.
“Yes. Can you cook?”
“A little.” Ash shrugged. He’d managed to learn, despite Durio.
“Good.” Stoltz shut the door. “Through there is the bathroom. Toilet, sink, and shower.”
Ash strode over to the door and opened it. The shower was huge. Big enough for a werewolf like him.
“It’s…” He turned back to Stoltz. Murphy leaned
against the kitchen counter, watching him. “It’s just fine.” Ash didn’t want his owner to think him ungrateful, yet he didn’t want to fall to his knees and thank Luna and Stoltz for seeing to his comforts. Or was he just afraid any emotion he showed would be used against him?
Stoltz nodded. “Do you need anything? I know you didn’t have much in the way of clothing, but I didn’t want to buy anything until I knew who I’d bought.”
“Clothing?” Again Ash couldn’t think of what to say. He licked his lips and looked around.
“Well, you can’t just sit around here naked, can you? And you’ll need more than that towel to move between here and the training floor.”
“Whatever you think is necessary,” Ash answered. Asking for something more, something specific, would be unthinkable for a slave.
“Okay.”
Murphy cleared his throat. “I have to go. Got an appointment to see the training facility manager.” He pushed off the counter and headed to the door.
And with that, he left.
Ash and Stoltz were alone. Ash’s muscles tensed, and he moved to the center of the room and took his stance, head down, hands behind his back, legs shoulder-width apart, as he’d been trained. Waiting for Stoltz to command him.
“I’ll bring you a rope to work out with, and maybe some weights. You can take a few days, get some food in you, and then we’ll head over to the sparring cages. I can’t wait to see what you can do.”
He was leaving? He wasn’t going to fuck Ash?
He motioned for Ash to follow him to the door, and Ash obeyed.
Stoltz put his hand on the phone hanging on the wall just to the side of the door. “If you think of anything you need, just pick up the phone and hit nine. Goes straight to my home phone. Leave a message if I don’t answer.”
Stoltz gave him a slap on his ass. “Make yourself at home. You’ll be here for a long time, I hope.”
He opened the door and left.
“Me too,” Ash mumbled.
Stoltz hadn’t touched him, other than the slap, and that had been friendly rather than meant to cause pain. He didn’t want Ash. At least not to fuck.
Relief raced through Ash, and he staggered to the couch and collapsed onto it.
At least this time. Next time could be different.
For now, Ash wasn’t sure what it meant that Stoltz had left without more than a slap or if he could even trust Stoltz not to change his ways. Time would tell what sort of owner Stoltz would be to Ash.
He rubbed his ass cheek, easing the sting, as he gave the room another look.
Home.
Chapter Four
Stoltz walked back to the elevator and decided to stop by the manager’s office and at least get on the schedule for next week. Training times were tight, and since he was a new trainer, he figured he’d be shuttled to the back of the list, if not put off completely, despite being known at the facility.
He expected razzing by the other trainers. It was all part of it. But he also knew with time and new clients, he’d get past feeling like the new kid and to where he wanted to be—a respected top trainer for the league.
All he needed was for Ashland to work out as planned and get into top shape as quick as possible, and to contract the first fighter. He’d fought in the human fight leagues and worked with Murphy for over eight years, during which he’d met a lot of owners and trainers. None were better than Murphy, and Stoltz put himself right under Murphy, even if it was pure vanity.
Now it was a matter of talking to the owners and getting a few contracts.
And most of that depended on them seeing Ashland in the cages. Once they got a look at him—his size, his power, his wits—they’d come running; Stoltz was sure of it.
If Murphy believed this was the werewolf for him, then he was. The man never failed to pick top quality for the cages.
Stoltz found himself standing outside the manager’s office. With a deep breath, he jerked open the glass door and went in.
“Need to schedule a cage for some training.” He pulled out his trainer’s badge and held it up.
Margo, the woman behind the desk, looked up, smiled, and took his badge for a closer look.
“Haven’t seen you here without Murphy, Stoltz. What’s up? This for your boss?”
“No. It’s for me. I’m my own boss. I’m branching out on my own.”
“Wow. Murphy let you go?” She shook her head.
“Well, let’s say he was kind enough to send me on my way.” He grinned at her. “It was time. He thought so, so I just obliged.”
“So, you got a werewolf? One of Murphy’s lot?” She typed on the console and brought up the schedule.
“No. He’s new to me and Murphy. Guess I need to register him, right?”
“That’s right. He’s got a number, doesn’t he? Has he fought before?”
“Yeah, I got the number here.” He slid his sales paper across the counter to her.
She took it, scanned over the document, and then typed in the numbers.
“Name he’s fighting under?” She waited, her fingers poised over the keyboard. The only identity on the papers was Ash’s tattooed serial numbers. Owners often changed the names of their slaves when bought or sold.
“Ashland.” Stoltz saw no reason to change his werewolf’s name. He liked it. It was strong and solid, much like the man himself.
She froze and flicked her gaze up from the keyboard. “Ashland? Durio’s werewolf?”
“I’m not sure. He was sold for back taxes. Maybe. Why?” Stoltz put his arm on the counter and leaned forward.
“Nothing. I remember…”
“What?” If there was something about the slave, he needed to know it.
She frowned and leaned closer. “Damn Durio. He never did fight this one. Kept him as his personal pet.”
Stoltz scowled. “What do you mean?”
“You know.” She rolled her eyes and blushed. “Sex.” She sighed. “I’m not surprised Durio lost him. Probably a relief for the werewolf. I know if Durio was my master”—she shuddered—“I’d chew my own arm off to get away from him. He is not a good man.”
Stoltz’s belly rolled. Ashland had been abused by his owner? Shit. It hurt him to know it, hurt to think of Ashland used that way, and he swore again he’d never ever do such a thing to a slave.
“Bastard!” he bit out.
“You got it. I hope he never gets hold of another slave, but you know how it is for some. They get a taste of the power and the control, and they want more.”
“Not me.” Stoltz wanted to spit, he was so mad at the man—a man he’d never met. But if he did ever meet him, he’d be sure to let his feelings about abusing slaves be known.
“I know. You’re not made that way.” She clicked the keys with her long nails and then hit Print. The machine next to her shot out a sheet of paper.
“These are the available times. I went easy on you.” She winked. “Gave you some good slots to choose from.” She whispered, “Even gave you the names of the werewolves training at those times.”
He winked back at her. “Thanks, Margo. I appreciate that.” Nothing wrong with being a nice guy; it often paid off. Like just now. Margo was at least twenty years older than he was, but she still liked to flirt.
Stoltz scooped up the papers and went to a small seating area to go over it. Margo wasn’t wrong—she’d given him some sweet times next to some of the best fighters. He’d have to bring her something special to thank her. Nothing over the top, though. Maybe some chocolates.
He scanned the list, going over it in his mind and wishing like hell he had Murphy there to bounce ideas off. But he was on his own now, and Murphy had trained him well. He could do this.
After he made his mind up, he got out his pen and circled the openings he wanted, stood, and brought it to her. “What do you think?”
She looked it over with a trained eye. “Looks good. Not too high profile, but some good fighters.” She typed again, and then the pr
inter spit out a few sheets of paper. After folding them, she handed them over to him. “Here are your bookings. Present them to the floor manager to claim your cage. And good luck, Stoltz.”
“Thanks, Margo. I owe you.” He winked again, she shrugged, and he stuffed the papers into his jacket pocket as he left the offices.
That part done, he needed to pick up some clothing for Ashland. The arena housed many shops that catered to the fight crowd, including slave clothing. He headed to the shopping level, just outside the arenas, making a list in his head as he walked.
»»•««
“Does this robe come in 2X?” Stoltz held up a plain, white, terry-cloth robe with a hood. It would be too large for him now, but Ashland would carry a lot more weight once he fleshed out. Stoltz could see Ashland in his mind’s eye, tall, large, powerful. Those shoulders were going to need room to move in.
He pictured Ashland rolling his powerful shoulders, naked, stretching and preparing to enter the cage. Werewolves fought naked, even when sparring. No need for clothes, especially when they shifted into their wolf forms. Stoltz remembered the look of Ashland’s cock, its length and thickness.
His mouth watered.
Oh shit, no. He shook his head to get rid of the image, but his cock had remembered, and it responded.
“No!”
“Excuse me? This is the 2X you asked for.” The clerk stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“Just remembered something else I have to get,” Stoltz stumbled on. “I need a pair of slave sandals.”
The clerk led him to a display of rubber sandals. They were the barest of coverage with thin soles, but they’d do to get from Ash’s quarters to the training floor. The shop didn’t even carry real leather shoes. Only the most prized sex slaves kept as pets got those. He’d seen the slippers peeking out as the slaves trailed behind their masters, head-to-toe burkas billowing as they moved. Bred for their sexual prowess and allure, they were covered for protection from the testosterone-filled werewolves who fought for mates.
Stoltz picked out the ones with the thickest soles and handed them to the clerk.
