Ruin Maketh Me

2 - Amongst the perfume of beautiful roses

Fuck. Worse case scenario.
     The fox man's deep voice purrs almost softly, "Darling, aren't you happy you're getting bought so soon?" His bright red tongue ripples along his lips again, "I'm so close to having my rut as well."
     My nose wrinkles, and I strain my muscles to keep my face straight. So I'm a slave, what could be worse? At least I'm not getting fucked by this idiot. My eyes travel from his long flaming hair to the scar cutting across his right cheek to the feline grace in his stance. Though, his body is not half bad.
      I clear my throat, "So, who's buying me?" It's a clear sound like the bumping of wine glasses, but without the androgynous of childhood.
The fox's right eyebrow lifts a fraction, and I catch the flash of alertness through his eyes, but if he noticed any difference, he doesn't comment. Instead, he allows a grin to stretch his face.
"You're a lucky one, you are." He gestures for me to stand up, "The young masters of Kade are buying you without even a look at the merchandise." He shrugs his shoulders, "Their loss, not mine. Though," at this, he glances down at me suggestively, "I doubt they're going to be returning you."
I stand shakily to my feet. My thoughts clash in turmoil, and I don't know whether I should curse or thank this body for being attractive.
"Am I going like this?" I spread my arms and gesture towards the dirty shirt and shorts.
A laugh falls from the fox's mouth, "No, no, we're going to get you cleaned up."
My eyes drift back to the rakish grin. I know his kind, he's the type who finds out everything about their client, and if I'm right, he won't refuse some questions.
"What are they like?"
His eyes turn back to me, "I don't want to scare you darling."
I shake my head, "Go on, I want to know. Please."
A thoughtful look crosses his face, "Their 'cleaner' died last week, and they need a new one to take with them to the Academy." A dark smile curves his lips, "They have some 'interesting' hobbies."
A shiver traverses down my spine. I've known a lifetime of people with strange hobbies, fetishes and kinks. And although the few times I tried BDSM didn't send me puking, I'd rather not be under the control of someone like Jacques again. Platinum hair and ghostly blue eyes forces its way through my mind.
     "The Academy you say?" I ask following him to the door.
     "Yeah. Aren't you blessed, you get to go to the Academy. Albeit," he chuckles, "as a slave."
     A thrill rushes through my blood. It's a feeing I haven't had in a long time.
     The fox leads me into a narrow corridor. As we walk further and further away from the room, the wallpaper become cleaner and it's clear that the wooden floors have been polished. There are still, however, no windows.
      A small door comes up to the right, and as we approach it the fox stops me. Quickly, he leans down and plants a warm kiss on my lips. Surprise rises for a fraction of a second, and I pull away.
     Although his lips are no longer touching me, he does not lift his head immediately. His nose is a mere fraction from mine, and his eyes seem to smoulder with lust and something else I've seen but can't quite name.
     "And is that because of your rut too?" I ask coldly.
     He breathes heavily, hot air burning between our faces. Then his gold eyes close, and he stands stiffly upright, away.
     "No. It's not my rut yet."
     We stand, both scanning each other stonily.With a look of finality in his eyes, he breaks our silence by reaching for the door. It opens smoothly and he stands to one side. He doesn't gesture, but I understand his message, and I give him the peace of entering silently.

     The bathing process did not take long, a product of habit rather than necessity. The bathroom had everything from soap to conditioner, all except a mirror and a window, which just grew my curiosity even more. Who was I? What did 'I' look like?
     Clothes had been provided on a small wooden stool by the bathtub. I had half expected them to give me frilly dresses and lace costumes, but I was relieved to find a plain white shirt, black trousers, black socks and leather shoes.
     I tuck the stiff shirt into the loose waist of my trousers, and pulling the door open, step into the corridor again.
     The fox is leaning against the opposite wall, and at the sight of me his eyes glow dangerously dark again.
     An arrow of irritation shoots through me, "Show the way."
     He allows another rakish grin on his face, but he spins away a fraction too quick, too stiff.
     Similar to before, he leads me through a series of tight corridors, and passing through a small archway we enter into a much wider corridor.
      Although this corridor too has white wallpaper, it's impossibly clean and has a unnatural but pristine gleam. The floorboards no longer creak, and the wood is a deep, mahogany shade.
The fox stops before a set of gilded double doors. There's no hesitation in his actions this time, he flings them open, and sunlight cascades out from the opening.
Through the glare of light I see the dark outlines of three men leaning languidly back on sofas. Then the light dims as if a cloud had just passed, and I see.
I see.
Something screams within me, deep and guttural. I can't breathe. I can't move. I can't tear my eyes away from them and their beautiful, beautiful red eyes.