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to study his face. He kept his eyes averted, and Andia began to suspect the truth about the two men.
    Christophe was a male submissive.
    Like lightning, the thought electrified her. Her infrequent time off had been spent in some of Nylar's hottest clubs. Male subs were rare and ostracized. Christophe had fallen into subspace just from her work with Zevon. His eyes were glazed over and stayed lowered. His breathing was slow and steady, even with the stimulation and pain of the harness.
    She glanced at Zevon. His intense focus, his parted lips, his evident arousal both confused and fascinated her. Andia gave her attention back to Christophe. “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice echoing in the room.
    "I am yours,” he said simply.
    Andia almost stepped back in shock. Christophe's declaration was given without hesitation. “Do you want me?” she demanded. Why was she pushing this? The ritual of acceptance by a submissive to a dominant was old-fashioned, but she still used it to test her prisoners. She usually waited, built up to this.
    Christophe blinked and stared down at the floor. “Yes, Mistress."
    Zevon struggled against his restraints. “No, Christophe,” he shouted. “You can't trust her. She'll hurt you."
    Christophe turned his head, and Zevon froze. Whatever he saw in Christophe's expression affected him deeply. “No. Don't do this. You don't deserve it."
    "It was my fault,” Christophe said calmly.
    Zevon seemed to lose his mind, fighting the restraints and heaving his body against the metal cuffs. Andia lifted one brow at his frantic efforts. Clearly he could see it was pointless to struggle, yet he strained against his captivity. Such a passionate response.
    In the midst of Zevon's frenzy, Christophe whispered, “Mistress, please. He'll hurt himself."
    "So?” she asked. “It's no less than you both deserve.” The game had to be played, and the criminals had to pay regardless of her doubts. There were people watching.
    She stepped back from Christophe, Zevon's shouts filling her ears. Without hesitation, she retrieved a shockstick and ignored Christophe's “No, Mistress” and jammed the thing into Zevon's hip.
    Zevon's shouts shut off abruptly, and his entire body tensed. Then he convulsed and slumped in the restraints. Andia had a myriad of emotions slam through her. Doubt, arousal, regret that she caused pain without a purpose, confusion at Zevon's reactions, and most of all, a need to figure these two men out before she had to take more drastic measures.
    Under cover of putting the harness on Zevon, she whispered to the weakened man. “Surrender to me, Zevon Maco. You can trust me."
    The desperate, deeply pained expression in his look when he raised his head tore at her heart. “He is innocent. Innocent,” he mumbled, then dropped his head again.
    The silence in the room was eerie and filled with unspoken words. Both men, restrained against the wall, harnesses on their cocks, naked, and helpless, were on their way to the destruction she had planned for them.
    And Andia wanted nothing more than to comfort them both.
    "You will remain restrained until I order your release. When you are released, you will piss and shit on my command. If you don't, you will be harnessed, and you cannot piss through the harness. If you shit while you're restrained, I will make you clean it up.” Somehow the usual words held no comfort for her, the ritual giving her nothing. “You will eat off the floor like the animals you both are."
    Neither man responded. She wasn't even sure they heard her. Tears were on Christophe's cheeks, his face a mask of pain and sadness. Zevon seemed lost, unresponsive.
    She had to play her part. “Do you understand?” she snapped.
    "Yes, Mistress,” both men answered.
    "Good,” she purred. “Welcome to the conclave, slaves."
    She turned on her heel and ignored the niggling doubt in her stomach.
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Chapter Four
    Fucked-up. He was completely fucked-up.