Primal Bond (Warlords of Vasz #4)

18. Chapter 18

Chapter eighteen

W ith a quick, decisive motion, Zanik brought his palm down on Finn's backside. The sound echoed sharply, and Finn yelped, the surprise cutting through the haze of tension that had enveloped them.

Zanik controlled the strength of his spanks, focusing on creating a sting that would linger but not bruise. He noted the way Finn's body reacted, how the boy squirmed, each smack eliciting a mixture of shock and something deeper.

Zanik brought his hand down again, the sharp crack echoing through the club. Finn let out a whine, his body jerking against Zanik's lap.

"You insolent brat," Zanik growled, his voice low and menacing. "How dare you speak out of turn? Is this how you represent me?"

Another smack landed, and Finn whimpered. Zanik felt the boy's muscles tense, then relax as the sting spread across his skin. The club's patrons watched with approval, their eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and cruel amusement.

They didn't notice how Finn's shoulders weren't shaking from fear. Zanik felt Finn's huff of secret laughter as he hid his true reaction from the onlookers, burying his face in his arms.

Zanik leaned in close, his breath hot against Finn's ear. "You'll learn your place, pet."

As the spanking continued, Finn's reactions began to shift. His initial shock gave way to a deeper response. His breathing grew ragged, and Zanik felt the subtle roll of Finn's hips against his thigh.

"Have you learned your lesson yet?" Zanik demanded, punctuating his words with another sharp slap.

Finn gasped, his voice trembling. "Y-yes, Master."

It was just for show, but Zanik felt a surge of heat at the title. He brought his hand down again, harder this time. Finn's cry was different — lower, almost a moan.

There was an unmistakable hardness pressing against his leg. His eyes widened slightly, but he quickly schooled his features. The other Borraq were still watching, nodding approvingly at the display of dominance.

Grinning wickedly, Zanik continued the punishment. Each smack drew a new sound from Finn — cries that sounded like pain to the observers. Zanik knew better. He could feel Finn's arousal growing with each impact.

Zanik’s breath quickened as Finn squirmed in his lap, each smack drawing forth breathy cries that ignited a fire within him. He felt the heat of desire pooling low in his belly, battling against the carefully constructed walls he’d built around himself.

The urge to claim Finn, to pull him close and dominate him completely, clawed at his self-control.

The way Finn’s body reacted — how he writhed, how he panted — spurred Zanik’s thoughts down a dark path. He imagined taking Finn right there in front of the crowd, claiming him in a way that left no doubt who owned him.

The idea sent a shudder of need coursing through him. Zanik drew a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs as he fought to regain control.

“Enough,” Zanik growled, his voice low and steady, masking the tumult inside him. "You're done."

Finn slithered off Zanik’s lap, boneless and pliant, and landed by Zanik's boots again — but the look he shot Zanik was anything but submissive. He kept his hands in his lap, hiding his body's reaction. Finn's eyes were dark with need and annoyance, his frustration evident in the flush that crept across his cheeks.

Zanik had to suppress a grin; he found that defiance intoxicating.

The display over, the other patrons of the club went back to their discussion. Some floated over to Zanik, taking advantage of the scene to open a conversation with him — clearly wanting to curry favor, now that a way to introduce themselves had been opened.

Zanik maintained a facade of indifference as he engaged in conversation with the Borraq around him. The chatter flowed easily, but his mind remained sharp, focused on the prize he sought — Rivek. He flicked his gaze around the club, noting the way the patrons shifted, some eyes lingering on Finn, their interest a source of irritation simmering beneath his surface.

“A bold prize,” one Borraq chuckled, gesturing towards Finn’s position at Zanik’s feet. “You’ll train him well.”

Zanik forced a smirk, nodding in agreement. “He's proving to be a valuable asset.”

Touch him and I'll kill you where you stand.

“Smart choice,” another Borraq chimed in, grinning. “You know, the right human can really take the edge off those long inter-sector journeys.”

He's mine. Mine.

His new hangers-on began to chatter amongst themselves, exaggerating their boldness and achievements in the hope of catching his interest. None of them did.

Just as Zanik began to zone out, a new presence slid into the chair beside him. Zanik turned, his eyes narrowing instinctively.

The newcomer had a robust build, a little shorter than Zanik, but no less imposing. Sharp horns curved menacingly above a rugged face, and the scars that criss-crossed his skin told stories of battles fought and survived.

“Kyral,” the Borraq introduced himself, voice steady and deep, radiating an aura of confidence.

“Zanik,” he replied, keeping his tone neutral.

Kyral’s presence felt formidable, a quiet strength that made Zanik instinctively assess him. There was a tension in the air, something unspoken that made Zanik’s instincts hum. He noted the way Kyral moved, the subtle confidence in each step, a man who knew his strength.

This was no mere petty criminal or mercenary, desperately trying to show off their pet in public to gain cred. As if recognizing that, the other hangers-on made their excuses and left. No doubt trying to find somewhere else to posture, where they wouldn't immediately look outclassed by their company.

Who was this?

Zanik’s gaze flicked to the slave at Kyral's feet, a young human with wavy brown hair and wide blue eyes. The boy held himself with a perfect obedience. He knelt with a graceful posture, hands resting lightly on his thighs, eyes cast down. Every part of him screamed that he was well-trained.

Finn knelt beside Zanik’s feet, still pretending to be ashamed of his punishment. But Zanik saw the way Finn couldn't help sneaking a glance at the newcomers—

The moment Finn looked up, something shifted within him.

Zanik caught the subtle change in Finn's posture, the way he went stiff, muscles taut as if they were coiling for… What? Escape? A fight?

Finn had seen something about the newcomers, something that put him on edge.

Kyral was built like a fortress, rugged and gruff, with a voice that commanded attention. “Zanik, was it? I see you’ve trained your human well. Strong hand, traditional discipline." He surveyed Finn. “Perhaps our pets should play together. They’d be an appealing pair.”

That was out of the question, of course. Zanik was about to decline Kyral's suggestion, when he caught a flicker in Finn's eyes.

Almost imperceptibly, Finn nodded.

Zanik's brow furrowed. What are you up to? In their time together, he'd grown accustomed to reading Finn's subtle cues. Right now, everything about the human's body language screamed that he wanted this to happen.

But why?

Zanik hesitated. Finn had proven resourceful before. If he wanted this, there had to be a reason…

Against his better judgment, Zanik trusted him. "Why not?" Zanik shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Could be entertaining."

Kyral nodded approvingly. "You heard him," he said to his pet. "Go on, show them how it's done."

Zanik watched as Kyral's slave gently took Finn's hand, tugging him away from his position at Zanik's feet to lie down at an equal distance on the floor between their owners' seats.

Zanik's jaw clenched as he watched the new slave's hand slide around Finn's waist. Their bodies pressed together, their faces hidden behind a curtain of the other slave's long hair.

A fierce, primal jealousy flared in Zanik's chest.

How dare someone touch what's mine.

"Kyral, was it?" Zanik said, forcing his attention back to the conversation. "I'm not familiar with your name. What brings you to this sector?"

Kyral began his response — something about trading — but as the seconds passed, Zanik found his focus drifting. His eyes kept darting back to the entangled slaves on the floor. The sight of Finn in another's arms made his blood boil.

Zanik reached for his drink, desperate for something to steady his nerves. As he lifted the glass, the other slave whispered something in Finn's ear.

Finn abruptly sat up, his eyes wide with alarm. "Don't drink that!" he hissed.

Zanik froze, the glass halfway to his lips.

Zanik wasn't the only one that had frozen. Finn and the other slave exchanged hushed whispers, furiously discussing something. And Kyral… he kept his eyes on Zanik. Watching. Ready .

After a long, tense moment, Kyral's pet looked up to Kyral, his eyes wide. "Not him," he whispered. "He's an ally."

Kyral raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from that cold readiness to amusement. He reached out, plucking the drink from Zanik's hand with a wry smile.

"Well," Kyral said, his tone light but eyes sharp. "I've just been informed that I'm not supposed to poison you."