Slave Hunt by J.A. Rock

Author:J.A. Rock [Rock, J.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2016-07-03T04:00:00+00:00

“Relax.” I smiled at the slave who walked beside me—a very sweet woman named Farrah. She had blue paint all over the shoulder of her black jacket, and she kept pulling her goggles away from her face and then setting them back in place. As she did, she’d shake the sleeve of her jacket down so I could see her blue wristband.

She was the third slave I’d captured. I’d lucked out and nabbed two friends about half an hour ago, and taken them both to camp at the same time. I’d been on my way back into the woods when I’d seen Farrah and managed a lucky shot when she ran. I could only hope that Miles was successfully avoiding capture. I hadn’t seen him on the posts.

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked, not for the first time.

She’d been laying on the damsel-in-distress routine pretty thick.

“Well,” I said politely. “I’m going to take you back to camp, and chain you up to a whipping post.”

“And then what?” She had this eager sort of preschool-teacher voice, like she was prompting me for the next line in a familiar story.

“And then I’m going to pin your cards up.” I was trying to keep our dialogue as nonsexual as possible.

“And then what?”

“And then . . . people will be able to have their way with you.”

She picked her way over a cluster of small white flowers. “I wish you would have your way with me.”

I smiled again. “My boyfriend and I are pretty exclusive.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “So you don’t want to ravish me or anything?”

“I’ll bet you’ll find plenty of people at the posts who’ll ravish you.”

She glanced sideways at me. “I like your teeth.”

“Thank you. I’m a vampyre.”

“I figured.” We walked in silence for a moment. Her footsteps were slightly uneven, like she was favoring one leg. Her whistle lanyard dangled from her pocket. Finally she said, “Do you live with your boyfriend?”

I jolted. “Most of the time. Why?”

“That’s cool.” Another moment of silence. We squeezed through a narrow gap between two trees. “Who’s your boyfriend? Is he here?”

“You know Miles?”

“Heard of him.”

“That’s my boyfriend.”

“Yeah.” She stepped daintily over a fallen branch. “There’s a hunter who really wants to catch him.”

Her right leg. She favored her right leg.

I forced myself to stop watching her and actually absorb what she’d said. “Who?”

“Dorian.”

It took me a second. “You mean Bowser?” I remembered Miles telling me that Bowser’s scene name was DorianGreat—“Bowser” was a nickname that had caught on once someone pointed out his laugh sounded just like the Mario villain’s.

“Maybe?”

“Big? Basically a Viking?”

“Yeah.”

Part of me wanted to let her go and then find Miles. Assure myself nobody had captured him. Stay by his side so nobody else could claim him. I wasn’t normally possessive, but I was feeling ungenerous today.

We reached the edge of the woods and stepped out into the meadow. A weak sun was out, and the scene before me was a very adult variation on some of my favorite childhood memories: showing up for T-ball practice in the field behind the YMCA.

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