A Pet's Rebellion Ch. 01

Author's Note: This story is the third part of my Wish Granted series. It's turned out to be much shorter than I thought it would be. I almost feel rather guilty over it, but I spent a lot of time cutting out useless padding, so maybe it will be okay. There won't be sex right away, but there will be sex. It will simply take a long time for sex to happen. There will be some homosexuality/bisexuality. All graphically described sexual contact in this series as a whole involves characters who are at least 18 years old, often older than that.

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Someone was roughly clawing against his bare shoulder, shaking him up.

An older woman's voice bore into his ear with absolutely no patience. "Up! Up, you sagging, great thing!"

Kristof groaned out his feelings. They weren't happy feelings. They were gritty, aching feelings. He flipped himself over, moving his blanket aside as he did so. His bare body felt the morning's spring air. His eyes opened, slowly, reluctantly, and then they focused on the woman leaning over him in the morning light. It was the housekeeper, Rina. Her gray coiffure was tight and uncompromising. The same could have been said of her expression, despite all the wrinkles.

"For your health, Man, you need to leave this place!"

And go where? To Henrisk? He wasn't in the mood for the Social Season. He had heard something about the Adurants some time ago. There were two sons, apparently, and they both had dark hair and gray eyes. That shriveled prune actually rose from the marriage bed, and now he had two boys to boast about! He even gained a reputation for being kind and charitable. The incident with his mad, murderous parents didn't matter in the end!

Meanwhile, Kristof didn't even have a sister anymore.

His vision blurred up as that last thought punched him in his belly.

Bethaline was gone. Three damn years had flashed by since her suicide, and he still had to remind himself about it.

He was shaken again. Rina's eyes narrowed and her wrinkles deepened. "Go to the sea, or to the parks! Go and see people! Exercise is fine and well, Master, but your heart needs it too. Do something trivial! What of that actress you liked so well?"

Kristof yawned into his fingers. Then he told the woman, "She abandoned me for Prince Stephan." That was the second son of the king.

The housekeeper's withered hand went to her forehead as she groaned at him. "Women beg to be near you, go find another one."

Kristof's lips pouted a bit. Then he wrapped a portion of his blanket around his waist. "I don't like those sorts anymore. They can be so ungrateful."

"You're acting like a brat!" Rina stepped out of his view. "Ride down to your favorite bordello and find the cleanest strumpet."

"If I leave the castle, will you cease your nagging?"

"For today." He almost heard the housekeeper's shrug.

"I'll go for a walk in Osgarth, then."

Duke Kristof Bransted, Lord of the Wyden province, was a defeated man.

***

Disbelief.

Panic.

Her aching hands were pounding on the door of the seamstress' dress shop. The hot wood of the stoop scraped against her bare feet. Her throat had finger shaped bruises on it. Even with her hoarse crying and begging, she heard people laughing at her. One person stopped to pinch her barely covered backside, causing her to jump. All she had on was a chemise, and that was horribly embarrassing, nearly disgraceful.

Thanks to a black eye and tears, it was becoming more and more difficult to see anything. Her insides, particularly between her legs, felt chafed and raw, even though there was blood and semen seeping out and trickling down her legs. There was also blood on her hands, particularly at her fingernails.

"Don't abandon me! Please! I have nowhere else to go!"

How?

How could a person be so venomous?

Wasn't it obvious that this wasn't her fault? Wasn't it obvious that she was the victim, the wronged party?

Then again, she imagined that her employer's brother was probably held in higher regard.

Damn it!

"Please! Don't ruin me!" She kept pounding onto the door, but then a man's voice stopped her.

"Do you need help?"

Please, God of Hope! Please let this be a kind person!

She wiped her good eye with the back of her wrist. Then her arms wrapped around her bosom. She turned to look at the person.

He was the richest looking man she had ever seen, wearing a fashionable springtime coat of a lemon yellow color. Brown and blue embroidery was all about the button holes and pockets, forming delicate branches of pretty trees with happy little flower buds. She noticed the man's tall, uncompromising form, and felt a little bit more intimidation than normal. When her dark green eyes slid up to the man's face, or rather, her good eye slid up, she cringed, because her intimidation levels were overflowing. She wanted to shrink away into nothing like a small bit of water over a blisteringly hot stove.

His chin had a subtle cleft. His cheeks were high and proud. There was a set of lips that were close to being feminine, but not quite. Brown hair, thick and beautiful, was tied over his shoulder with a silk ribbon. His eyes were a slightly darker brown, but every bit as sparkly as his hair. The nose was straight, but not very thin. It was a firm man's nose, a calculating man's nose.

And on his hat, there was a golden pin with the Bransted's family crest carved into it, a fierce hawk.

It was the lord of all of Wyden!

She never thought she'd ever meet such a man.

Even in her bloody, almost nude state, she rushed to curtsy.

She saw the duke flick the air with his richly colored cane. "Don't concern yourself with pleasantries. You're in no position to give them. I'll have your name instead."

Her eyes went to her reddening feet. "My name is Laileen Madock, Your Grace."

She heard the slithering noise of fabric swiping against fabric. Then she felt something hot envelop her, smelled an almost sinful cologne of lemongrass, cloves, and moss. It took her a few seconds to understand that the lavish coat that had so beautifully adorned the body of the duke had been placed around her shoulders.

Laileen's face warmed as she closed the coat over her body. Her black eyelashes lowered. The tip of her nose was round and a teeny bit wide, but the bridge was straighter and thinner. So, when her nose scrunched up as she took a few uncertain sniffs, her slightly wide nostrils constricting, Laileen imagined that this aristocrat was probably thinking she had an ugly, ungainly nose.

"Let me take you to a physician," the duke said. His voice wasn't very ... caring. It was confident, firm, pregnant with the knowledge that she wouldn't refuse him.

It was worth the risk. Laileen nodded her head, feeling her black hair slide and shuffle about her neck and back.

She thought she was meant to walk with the man, and she lowered one of her feet to a step of the stoop, but Duke Bransted stepped up, putting a great hand to her shoulder. He sounded oddly triumphant as he said, "I won't let your dainty little toes touch the filthy street."

Well, what was she supposed to do, leap into his arms?

Laileen's full lips were suddenly at the mercy of her worried teeth. The man was actually reaching up to her, his fingers expectantly moving as if trying to lure her to him.

"Your Grace, I don't understand."

"Come into my arms, Miss Madock. It's the safest option."

She blinked at him.

The tip of her nose that she hated so much turned pink.

"Is this the only option?"

The duke's eyebrows rose for a moment. Then they lowered. Moderate irritation was showing in his brow. "Obey your lord, Miss Madock."

A sigh, and then Laileen stepped into the nearly scandalous embrace of a man without a coat.

"Ah, there you are." The man actually adjusted her weight, flipping her body back a bit. He put one arm under her thighs and the other at her waist. Reluctantly, she put an arm around his shoulder for support. More of his earthy cologne touched her senses. She tried to ignore it.

A man paused and asked the duke about the situation, laughter in his voice and eyes. Laileen wanted to hide her face like a shy toddler.

To her surprise, the duke said in a derisive tone, "What do you think I'm doing, you fool? I'm assisting a damsel in extreme distress! I'm quite ashamed to know that nobody else seemed willing to help this poor, hapless creature!"

The man accepted the scolding with a blushing face and a quiet grumble. His head lowered as he walked off.

"I suppose that's all he had for me, then," Duke Bransted said, turning and carrying Laileen down the street. "I left my carriage at a pleasure garden, shouldn't be a long walk at all. You'll have your pretty flesh healed soon. Don't have fear, Sweetling."

Did he just fucking call her a Sweetling?!

Laileen's good eye narrowed. Her full lips tightened. She longed to snap out an insult at the man, but he was her savior, and he was the most powerful person in the entire province. He pretty much owned the province.

And not only was the man carrying her around, he was doing so while several passers-by gave them curious looks. Those that recognized the aristocrat generally had the good sense to refrain from asking any rude questions.

When they reached the pleasure garden, Duke Bransted found his carriage, told the driver where he wished to go, and personally helped Laileen inside. Then he paused, his face turning down as he noticed stains on his shirt's sleeve. The more obvious stains were red. The less obvious ones were more difficult to see.

Duke Bransted's face turned dark. His lips formed something like a snarl. His eyelids pulled back only slightly.

But he said nothing about the stains.

He closed the door, climbed into the seat beside Laileen, closed the door on his side, banged the handle of his cane on the ceiling, and gave a strangely weak exhale.

Then he grinned, seeming to regain his brighter composure.

Turning to Laileen, he said with utmost conviction, "You have nothing more to fret about. I'm right here."

Well, she had plenty to worry about. What about pregnancy? What about disease?

Laileen shrank under the man's intense yet cheerful stare. Her bare legs pressed together. Her bloody fingers tried to put some order in her wild hair. She didn't care if the blood smeared into her black locks.

"Would you like to tell me about what happened to you?"

She shook her head. "It's not pleasant to tell, Your Grace."

"Tell the physician, then?"

Was he just ... going to demand personal information from the physician?

What kind of person was he?

Laileen tried to keep quiet. She was very uncomfortable with him, even if he was giving her much needed help.

But ... damn it, he insisted on talking. "Why were you knocking on that door? Did you have business with the people inside?"

She pulled on one of her fingers, her shoulders hunching under the bright coat.

"Have you any family?"

She made a very loud sniffing sound and turned her head, looking out a small window.

Weight ... hot weight slid over her shoulder and neck.

The madman had actually leaned in and put his arm around her!

A tiny squeak of a noise spurted out of her throat. She didn't know how else to respond to him, although she knew she wanted to sink into the floor of the carriage and fold herself into nothingness.

His voice went straight to her ear. "We aren't far from the clinic. You'll be treated well there." He was saying very normal, not sexually suggestive things, but his voice was husky and low, as if he was discussing something much more carnal.

Laileen rubbed her palms together in her lap. She crossed her bare ankles. There was a moment where the duke seemed to be waiting for her to say something. She didn't know what to say. She was only a low class seamstress employed at a dress shop.

Well ... not anymore.

Reality was like a sopping wet cloth slapping her senses as her good eye widened and her lips parted. She didn't have an income anymore. She didn't have a home anymore.

Her body was suddenly much shakier, and she was weeping again.

"Ohhhh, it's going to be fine and well, even better than that. Don't cry now." Duke Bransted's arm tightened over her. His hand patted her shoulder, then it gripped her.

None of that was helping. Laileen was a miserable, wet mess of a woman. The man couldn't come up with any statement that could hush her. Even when the carriage halted at a clinic, Laileen was still sniveling and sniffing out her despair. Even when the duke pulled her out of the carriage and carried her inside the building, her bruised face was in her hand. The scent of drying blood was painting over the scent of her tears.

***

Dr. Poliver led Kristof into his office so they could have a private conversation. He was a short man with an honest smile and a mild scar across his eye. The office was small, but clean. It smelled like books and chemicals, but it wasn't entirely disagreeable.

Kristof took a seat in a plain but comfortable chair. He watched the physician sit down behind his desk. Then he listened to the man's somber words.

"Forgive my crudeness, Your Grace, but I need to be honest. That woman has been raped."

Kristof had figured as much, and he wasn't glad to have that bit of knowledge hanging in his brain. Whenever the concept of rape reached his thoughts, he would always imagine a hypothetical situation with Bethaline, and his stomach would turn queasy. Sometimes his face would even turn red.

Still, as atrocious as the thought was, this was definitely an opportunity.

He nodded at the doctor, gesturing for him to continue.

"She fought as well as she could. Some of the bastard's skin and blood was under her fingernails." Dr. Poliver folded his arms as his whole body seemed to cringe. "I've treated her wounds, and I gave her an injection. She was afraid of the needle at first, then she relaxed and said it was more tolerable than pricking her fingers at work."

Kristof's brow furrowed in mild confusion. "I'm not following you well. What do you mean by injection?"

The doctor shrugged. "It's a way to put medicine in someone's body. It works quickly." He reached for a pen on his desk. Then he spun it around in his thin fingers. "She needs to be monitored. The physical trauma will fade away, but I can't say the same for the mental trauma. Does she have any family?"

"I don't know. I've only met her today."

Dr. Poliver laid his pen down. "Perhaps, if I'm not reaching too far in saying this, you could find a place for her in this world, if she doesn't have one."

A confident nod, and then Kristof said, "I'll see to her needs."

***