Primal Bond (Warlords of Vasz #4)

14. Chapter 14

Chapter fourteen

T he newcomer was tall, even by Borraq standards, but lanky, with an aura of casual cockiness that set Finn's teeth on edge. Beside him trailed a human, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped in a way that screamed of long-term submission.

"Zanik, I presume?" the Borraq greeted, a toothy grin splitting his face. "I've heard of you by reputation. I didn't know you kept pets, too."

The newcomer’s grin widened, and he took a seat opposite Zanik, gesturing for his own human to sit by his feet. The slave moved without needing to be told, eyes vacant. Finn couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy mixed with disgust.

“I’m Yaren,” the Borraq introduced himself, his tone dripping with delight. “Quite the surprise to see Zanik, the great smuggler lord, indulging in entertainment such as this.”

“It's a recent acquisition,” Zanik replied, his hand moving to rest on Finn’s shoulder. The touch was light, but grounding. “Thought it was time to diversify my assets.”

Yaren chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. “Smart move. Humans are incredibly versatile. You just need to know how to train them properly.” He leaned back, his hand absently stroking his slave’s head. The human didn’t react, face completely blank.

Finn’s stomach churned, but he kept his gaze steady, focusing on Zanik’s calm demeanor. This was part of the plan. They needed information, and Yaren seemed more than eager to play the role of the benevolent teacher — if Zanik played his cards right.

“I must admit,” Zanik said, his voice carefully neutral, “I’m still learning the ropes. Any advice would be appreciated. You look like a man who knows how to properly train a pet.”

Yaren’s eyes gleamed with delight. He clearly loved knowing more than someone as prestigious as Zanik. “Of course, of course. Humans are quite simple once you understand their psychology. Positive reinforcement works wonders, but sometimes a… firmer hand is necessary.”

Nope. Don't need to hear this. Finn tried to tune out the conversation, but it was impossible. Every word Yaren spoke felt like a blade twisting in his gut. He glanced at the other human, but the man didn't even give a sign that he was hearing anything at all. What had this poor soul endured to end up so broken?

“Take my pet here,” Yaren continued, his hand moving to the human’s neck. “Completely obedient, aren’t you?”

The human nodded mechanically, the motion devoid of any real emotion.

Finn’s fists clenched, hidden from view. He focused on Zanik’s hand on his shoulder, the slight pressure a reminder that he wasn’t alone in this hell.

“Interesting,” Zanik said, his tone betraying nothing.

Yaren’s grin turned predatory. “Ah, and once you have them as well-trained as this, that’s where the real fun begins. They can be relied on to do anything, with the right incentives…”

Yaren’s grip tightened on the back of his human's neck. “The real fun,” he said, leaning in with a leer, “is when you offer them a choice. Get them to beg for the lesser of two evils. There's nothing quite like hearing a human slave eager to use their pretty little mouths on you, knowing they’d do anything to avoid something worse.”

Finn’s breath hitched, his body tensing. Memories he’d tried to bury surged to the surface. He was back in that dark, stinking cell, Urlek’s voice echoing in his ears. Beg for it, human. Show me how much you want it…

His mouth had been dry, his throat raw from screaming and crying. He’d forced himself to his knees, looking up at Urlek with eyes that burned from unshed tears — and he'd begged for it.

He’d done it because he knew the alternative. If he didn’t make Urlek use his mouth, he’d be taken in ways that left him in a far worse state. It wasn’t desire that had driven him to beg — it was survival, pure and simple.

But the shame, the utter degradation of hearing those words come out of him, had left scars that were hard to heal.

As Yaren continued, his laughter like nails on a chalkboard, Finn felt the room start to spin. The walls of the club faded, replaced by the suffocating darkness of his cell. The voices around him became distant, a hollow echo, as his mind slipped back to that place of helplessness and violation.

Finn’s breathing grew shallow, his vision tunneling as he stared blankly at the floor. Zanik’s presence beside him was a faint, distant anchor, but it wasn’t enough to pull him back. He could hear Yaren’s laughter, feel the heat of shame and dehumanization seeping into his bones.

I’m just a thing. Used. Thrown away.

Broken.

The resolve that fueled him, the fire of revenge and defiance, flickered and waned. He was no longer Finn, the rebellious slave with a plan. He was just a broken boy, a tool for Borraq pleasure. The darkness of that realization wrapped around him like a shroud—

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the gentle weight of a hand on his head. He flinched, expecting a blow.

But the touch didn’t hurt. It was light, gentle.

He blinked, coming back to the present, the dimly lit club materializing around him again.

Zanik’s hand stayed there, resting gently on his tousled hair. The Borraq’s fingers moved slowly, carefully, stroking him in a way that was almost soothing.

Finn's breath hitched again, but this time it was from surprise. He glanced up, automatically seeking Zanik's gaze, but the Borraq was focused on Yaren, who continued to prattle on about training methods.

Zanik had noticed Finn's mental state slipping. He was there for Finn.

Finn focused on the feel of Zanik’s fingers, the slow, rhythmic movement as they stroked his hair. Each pass seemed to draw him further away from the dark memories, pulling him back to the present, back to the mission. Finn’s breathing started to even out, the frantic edge dulling as he anchored himself in the sensation.

It’s okay, he told himself with each stroke. You’re here, not there. You’re with Zanik, not Urlek. You’re safe… for now.

He took a slow, deliberate breath, then another. The panic that had threatened to consume him began to recede, replaced by a tentative calm. He could still hear Yaren’s voice, still feel the oppressive atmosphere of the club, but they seemed less overwhelming now. Zanik’s touch was like a lifeline, steady and reassuring.

He couldn't afford to fall apart now. He had to stay focused, had to keep his wits about him. And somehow, with Zanik’s hand still resting on his head, it felt possible. The Borraq’s silent support gave him strength, a strange and unexpected source of comfort.

I can do this, Finn thought, I have to do this. For myself, and for every other human trapped in this hell.

Zanik’s hand left Finn’s head, and the sudden absence of warmth made him shiver. Zanik stood abruptly, the movement catching both Yaren and Finn off guard.

“You’re leaving already?” Yaren’s voice was tinged with genuine surprise. His eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Zanik replied smoothly, his tone dismissive. “I’m a busy man, Yaren. I have business to attend to. I’ll be back another day.”

Shit. Finn’s heart sank. He understood immediately.

Zanik was cutting their visit short because of him. Because he’d seen the fear in Finn’s eyes, felt the tremor in his frame.

Finn’s jaw clenched in frustration, anger bubbling up at his own weakness. He wanted to stay, to push through, to catch even a glimpse of Rivek. What if they left now, only to miss Rivek by minutes?

But how could he communicate that to Zanik without breaking their cover?

Yaren’s sharp eyes flicked between them. “Well, I suppose I’ll see you around then, Zanik,” he said, his voice carrying a note of doubt.

Finn’s stomach churned. He forced himself to keep his gaze lowered, playing the part of the obedient slave, but inside he was screaming.

Zanik’s grip on his leash tightened, guiding him away from the table. Each step felt like a failure, the opportunity slipping through his fingers. They moved through the club, the oppressive atmosphere pressing down on him.

Once they were outside, the cool recirculated air hit his face, a stark contrast to the heat and stuffiness of the club.

But it didn’t bring any relief. Finn’s anger at himself only grew. He felt like he’d failed, like his body’s instinctive fear had ruined their chance.

Zanik walked briskly, not looking at him. Finn’s thoughts churned, frustration mixing with the remnants of fear. He wanted to dig his heels in, to insist that he was fine, to get back to the club to find an angle.

But he couldn’t. Here, he was just a slave — and slaves didn’t get to speak.

When they reached the ship, Zanik finally turned to him, his icy gaze piercing. “Inside,” he ordered, his voice brooking no argument.