Primal Bond (Warlords of Vasz #4)

17. Chapter 17

Chapter seventeen

D ays later, Zanik stood again at the entrance of the club, his grip firm around the golden leash that connected him to Finn. The dim, pulsating lights cast shadows across the corridor, illuminating Finn's nearly bare body.

Zanik's gaze lingered on the contours of Finn’s form, the way the scant fabric hugged his skin, leaving little to the imagination. A primal urge clawed at him, one he fought to suppress.

Mate Finn. Claim him fully.

Memories of their last encounter flooded Zanik’s mind. Finn’s wide eyes, filled with desire, haunted him. The way Finn had watched him, completely captivated, as he lost himself in pleasure. Zanik had never seen such raw longing. It was stirring something deep within him.

But now wasn’t the time.

They had someone they had to find — and kill.

He shifted his stance, forcing his attention away from Finn and back to the club entrance. The noise of laughter and music spilled out, mingling with the scent of cheap alcohol and something sweeter — human pheromones. Zanik clenched his jaw.

Finn looked up at him, uncertainty flashing in his expressive eyes. Zanik sensed the tension between them, the unspoken connection that pulled at his resolve. He couldn’t let that affect him. Every time he thought about the danger Rivek posed, the memory of Finn’s vulnerability pushed back against the heat building inside him.

Zanik’s jaw tightened as he led Finn through the thrumming chaos of the club. The memory of their last visit nagged at him, unrelenting.

He had watched Finn slip into a haze, the light in his eyes dimming as the ghosts of his past took him. Zanik remembered how Finn had trembled, the way his breath had quickened, the panic rising like a tide, threatening to drown the fire that had initially drawn Zanik in.

It had felt like a knife twisting in Zanik’s gut, knowing he had to maintain his facade. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t let Finn be scarred by this mission. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him, reminding him that he had the power to shield Finn from the horrors of their world.

Zanik would do anything to protect that spark — the fire that ignited his curiosity the moment he'd first laid eyes on Finn. He wouldn’t let the darkness consume the boy who had managed to pierce through Zanik’s own hardened shell.

Rivek needed to be taken down, not just for the sake of control over the sector, but for Finn’s revenge. Zanik tightened his grip on the leash, reminding himself of the stakes.

They had to succeed.

He felt the weight of eyes upon him as he led Finn by the leash. Each step was a reminder of the role he had to play. He couldn't glance back, couldn't let his gaze linger on the boy following one step behind.

It cut at him. No-one told him what he could and couldn't do.

A club server rushed over, her expression shifting from surprise to a practiced smile as she took in the sight of Zanik and his pet. Clearly, the staff had been instructed to give their new patron the red-carpet treatment. “Welcome, sir! There's a table for you this way.” She gestured for Zanik to follow, guiding him through the raucous crowd toward a table nestled in a private corner.

Zanik settled into his seat, his posture relaxed yet alert, keeping his senses tuned to the ebb and flow of the club. He ordered a drink, his voice steady, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Finn lowered himself to the floor beside Zanik's feet, a position that at first had felt degrading — but now simply felt tactical.

As he sipped his drink, Zanik surveyed the club. Rivek was…

Not here. Finn's body language mirrored his disappointment. Zanik could read it without needing words. The way Finn's shoulders sagged slightly, the flicker of his gaze as he scanned the room — it all told Zanik that Finn shared his frustration.

Another wasted trip, another time putting Finn at risk by exposing him like this.

Where was that bastard hiding?

Zanik sat back, feigning nonchalance as he surveyed the room. His muscles tensed slightly when Yaren approached, the other Borraq’s gaze sharpening as he spotted Zanik. There was a flicker of suspicion in Yaren's eyes that set Zanik's instincts on edge.

“Zanik,” Yaren greeted, his tone smooth but edged with curiosity. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”

Zanik nodded, keeping his expression cool. “Business is business, Yaren. You know how it goes.”

"Business is business, yes," Zanik repeated, his tone casual.

Yaren's eyes lingered on Finn for a moment too long. Damn . He must have noticed why Zanik had left last time.

Zanik's grip on the leash tightened. He knew what Yaren was thinking. No true owner would care about their pet being scared. If Zanik had truly been one of them, he wouldn't have spared a single thought for Finn's wellbeing.

But Yaren had clearly seen something in Zanik's demeanor. It made Zanik's fingers twitch with the urge to break the other Borraq's neck then and there.

Yaren strolled past Zanik and Finn, a confident smirk on his face and his own human pet trailing behind him like a shadow.

Zanik’s gaze sharpened as he caught sight of the other Borraq's companion. The human moved with a deliberate grace, but Zanik recognized a subtle hitch in his posture — the way the human's foot turned just slightly…

As the slave walked past Finn, he tripped, crashing to the floor. Heads turned at the sudden movement, the club's guests craning their necks to see what happened.

This was a rookie ploy. Too obvious, too banal. Zanik rolled his eyes in irritation.

“Careful there!” Yaren exclaimed, turning to Zanik with a mocking grin. “Your pet tripped my slave. You'd better keep him in line!”

Zanik opened his mouth to cut Yaren down — but before he could, disaster struck.

Finn looked indignant, the fire in his eyes flaring. “I didn’t do it!” he blurted out, his voice cutting through the murmur of the club.

Zanik's heart raced. He felt the weight of every gaze in the room shifting toward them.

No slave should dare speak without permission, especially to challenge another owner.

Finn, what have you done…?

Yaren’s expression morphed into one of delight, as if he had just uncovered a hidden gem. “Your pet doesn't know his place, Zanik!” Yaren challenged, the gleam in his eye pleased he’d found a weakness to exploit. “Are you going to let him get away with that?”

Zanik’s pulse quickened. He assessed the situation, scanning the faces of the other patrons, the way they leaned in, curious for a show.

There was no way out of this, now. The rest of the club had heard Finn speak out of line, mouthing off to a Borraq.

Zanik needed to discipline him. If he didn't…

He could already see the curiosity in Yaren's eyes. He was suspicious, and Zanik's reaction would test whatever theories were developing in his wretched little mind.

“Silence,” Zanik commanded Finn, his voice low but firm. The boy’s expression shifted, realizing what he'd done. Fear washed over him, visible in his expressive face.

Damn it all.

Zanik took a breath, forcing down the instinct to protect Finn, to shield him from the fallout of this misstep. He needed to think strategically. Yaren had managed to maneuver him into a corner, and the dullard was enjoying it far too much. The way Yaren grinned, reveling in his perceived superiority, made Zanik murderous.

He looked down at Finn, who was wide-eyed and pale, a flush of panic creeping across his features. The boy’s fear was real, and Zanik felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him, mingled with the frustration of being outplayed. He needed to regain control of the situation, to turn the tables. Yaren’s arrogance was a crack in the facade, and Zanik would exploit it. He could feel the tension simmering, the anticipation of the crowd thickening around them.

“Get up,” Zanik commanded, his voice low and steady. Finn hesitated, his expression flickering between defiance and terror.

Yaren, with his smug grin, called over a nearby club servant. “Bring some disciplinary tools,” he said, reveling in his position.

Zanik’s patience snapped. “I don’t need toys to discipline what’s mine,” he cut in sharply, letting a hint of menace lace his words. The change in his tone darkened Yaren’s expression, his smugness souring into something closer to irritation.

Finn’s eyes darted between them, fear palpable in the way he held his breath. Zanik leaned back in his seat, feigning nonchalance. He pointed at his lap, a deliberate display of control. “Lie down,” he ordered, his voice firm, unyielding.

Finn’s shoulders tensed, his reluctance clear, but he complied, awkwardly getting onto Zanik’s lap, the press of his body light across Zanik's thighs. Zanik felt the warmth radiate from Finn’s body, an intoxicating mix of vulnerability and defiance. He could feel Finn’s heartbeat, quick and nervous.

Zanik smirked at Yaren, the tension in the air shifting. “It's true — my pet is a brat,” he declared, his voice smug but edged with authority. “An untrained pup! Always barking, trying to push his luck.”

Finn's body stiffened momentarily, but Zanik traced a line down his spine with a firm hand. The gesture appeared possessive from the outside, a claim on Finn that the surrounding Borraq would recognize, but it was also a quiet check-in, a way to communicate that Zanik knew what he was doing.

Finn turned his face down against the chair's fabric, his breath hitching slightly. From the outside, it would look like obedience — but Zanik felt the soft vibration of the silent laugh that echoed against his thigh. The trembling that had coursed through Finn subsided, the fear gradually replaced by something else.

Zanik locked eyes with Yaren, whose smirk was fading. “Trust me, Yaren — I know how to punish those who disobey me.”