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"My boots, slave. Remove them," Azlorik instructed, his patience with her wavering. If he didn't need her for healing, he wouldn't have bothered with her nonsense. She'd be dead already. Mistale jumped to do as he told her, removing his leather boots before sliding his pants down his hips to his feet. Stepping out of them, he made his way to the nest of furs and blankets she'd spread out for them and made himself comfortable. "Come to me, slave, and rest. You'll have to keep your strength up if you expect to endure living amongst the Ilythiiri. Not that I care how well you endure it since you cost me nothing. I expect to fetch a good price from selling you; therefore you must be properly trained and completely obedient. Come. Rest."
Rest sounded so good. She crawled in beside him, cuddling up to him, and found blessed peace in her reverie.
- COMMENTS
cittranabout 11 years agoIt's because the guy is a total bastard. She saved his life; that normally counts for something, but apparently not here.
GinaTinaover 11 years agoLovely read. I can't help but wonder why this isn't a bit more popular than it seems to be. Well-written and engaging ... and I DO have a soft spot for those dastardly Drows. I plan to read what's available of this story when it isn't as late, and I plan on visiting your other works as well. Again, what a fun read. Thank you.
Ginae Evans
