Warning: We're getting into some aspects that many of you, harboring an inner fluffer (I haven't killed that off yet???), may not like. New warnings going into place are: Mind tampering (psychological torture) and implied non-con. I'm sorry that I didn't put this warning up immediatly. Just know that I don't hate any of the characters nor my readers. We'll get throught this together. *hugs*
And now... on with the show!
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He was so happy that he could see outside. The moon was so pretty...and not full.
/Don't think about it! Just ignore it!/
Harry shook his head to clear the voice from his mind and moved a bit closer to the window. Well, it wasn't really a window, but even a barred and narrow ventilation chute was a nice allowance. He had worked really hard to get something nice.
The scrape of the door opening had Harry scrambling down from his perch on the chair and falling to the floor. His knees were hurt, but he stayed down on them as light fell over him from the now open doorway. The scent fell over him too and Harry cringed.
"I really wish I could remember how good I was to get that reaction every time I come near," Jonathon said lightly. "Come on, dinner's on. You're being allowed to eat at the table, I heard."
We've been good!
Harry shook his head a little and quickly moved to his feet to follow the werewolf out. Keeping his eyes on the ground, Harry only saw the bare feet and torn shoes of the other pack members he passed on the way down the hall. They all fell in behind him and Harry focused on not thinking about them being right behind him.
/Just tell them to sod off and get the hell away!/
Don't anger them. Be good! Obey or they will hurt us!
Harry shook his head again and began playing his favourite game: tile counting. There were exactly thirty grey laminate tiles from his doorway to the edge of the table. But that was a straight line. If he counted each one his foot landed on, making sure to count a half tile if his foot landed on two, then he could figure out exactly how many tiles he walked over each time he went to—
"Ah, pet. Do you like your new room?"
Harry's heart sped up at the voice. Jonathon led him right to the brown patent leather shoes. Harry immediately went down to his knees, hands braced on the floor on either side of those shoes with the four lace holes on each side. "Thank you. I like it very much," Harry said to the slightly darker brown laces. He winced and hated the voice in his head that had made him not say the right thing and was about to retort when—
A bright light flashed behind Harry's eyes as a fist hit his temple, the force knocking him to his side. "I'm sorry, pet. I don't think I heard you properly."
Swallowing hard, Harry ignored the raspy chuckles coming from all around him and got back into the proper position: on his knees, hands flat to the floor. "Please, forgive me, sir. Thank you, master. I like it very much."
"Very good! Now I am glad I had you repeat yourself. It makes me happy when I can make you happy. I enjoy spoiling you, pet. Now come, sit and have dinner, will you?"
Harry nodded and climbed to his feet. The hand was gesturing toward an empty chair, which Jonathon was sitting next to. Harry didn't want to sit in that empty chair that was between Jonathon and ... and M...Ma-Muroch.
