Read Slavemaster's Woman, The for Free Online Page B

on cornered prey.
    Where most would’ve cowered, no hint of fear
showed on her face.
    That intrigued him.
    When he was close enough, Tarken offered her
one of the glasses.
    Cushla didn’t move, didn’t even look at him.
Rather, her gazed shifted and then fixed to a point just past his
left shoulder. It was a blatant refusal.
    The slavemaster’s mouth curled up on one
side. The woman obviously trusted no one. Gaining her confidence
would be a challenge. “I can promise you there is nothing in this
glass save the wine.” To prove his point Tarken took a sip of it
and then moved closer to her, offering the drink once more. “I
don’t drug slaves to subdue them. They willingly come to heel.”
    Remaining mute, she failed to react in any
way.
    Tarken closed the space between them. Taking
his fingers to her chin, he tilted her face forcing her to look at
him. “Cushla, it will do you no good to try to anger me. I do not
anger. But I am not a soft master either. You have obviously not
been trained properly. Your other masters must have been very soft
indeed.”
    With that comment, Cushla gave a soft snort
as she glared at him. “You’re clueless as to what I’ve
endured.”
    Her pale face flushed and he could tell she
was feeling anger. For a moment, he waited to see if she would act
upon it, if she would lash out. “Try the wine Cushla, you’ll find
it to your liking, I’m sure.”
    Instead, she stepped back from his grasp and
extended her hand, taking the glass he offered. She didn’t sip from
it.
    Her left eye twitched ever so slightly, and
Tarken was unsure if she was even aware of it, aware of how much
such small movement revealed. She was still wary he was sure,
studying him, and he had no doubt she thought that offering her
such a quality drink was an attempt to sooth her, to gull her into
letting her guard down, and she’d be correct.
    Despite his thoughts, she took an obedient
sip of the wine. This small token of compliance came as no surprise
to him. He was the enemy, she the captured prey. Her survival meant
understanding the master who owned her and how he might behave so
she could adjust accordingly.
    That is what a wise slave would do at least,
and Tarken suspected that Cushla possessed much wisdom. He was also
relatively sure that she would use that wisdom in attempt to
outsmart him rather than please him. He’d have to see her reactions
as he pushed further for her obedience. “Do you like it?”
    She looked away. Not at the floor, however.
Submissive slaves always looked down, but not this woman. She was
thinking on something. Perhaps plotting her escape? At least she’d
kept her temper in check. “It is very good—master,” Cushla spewed
the word, pausing, gulping before clenching her teeth tightly
together, the muscles in her jaw and cheek tensing, her lips
pursing when she clamped her mouth shut.
    “You’re humoring me.” Tarken almost
chuckled, though he managed to keep his face
expressionless--serious. She nearly choked over calling him master
and he found her reaction amusing. “That’s fine, Cushla. Slaves
should humor their masters, especially when they’re feeling
oppositional.”
    “I’m so glad I please you, master .”
    “Call me Tarken, mistress.” He ignored her
sarcasm and smiled gently at her, knowing his instruction to use
his name was highly irregular.
    Cushla blinked at him. Calling her mistress
was an outward proclamation of her station with him. The mistress
of a slavemaster was exclusive only to him. Additionally, it meant
she held authority above all other slaves who attended his house.
“You wish for me to call you Tarken?” She asked, her gaze intense
upon him, her brow creasing in confusion.
    “I do.” Tarken nodded gauging her reaction,
but the reaction he expected was not what he got.
    Cushla’s lip turned up on one side, and she
took two more steps back from him, stopping when she felt the wall
behind her. “And is that your name, master , or some