Page 1 of Dax: Gratefully Bonded (Rogue Bonds #2)

Zeke

I drained the last of my beer and contemplated whether I was drunk enough yet, or if I should get another one. Given that I was still very much aware of why I was at the pub, trying to drown my brain in alcohol, I suspected I needed another.

Unfortunately, the bartender had different ideas. “You’re done, Zeke,” he said, before I could even ask. “Go home.”

“Don’t want to go home,” I muttered, tipping the glass back to make the most of the last few drops.

The bartender sighed. He was a small man; a Derelian, one of the six species that made up the Denzogal Alliance here on Rendol 4. Derelians were kind of like miniature centaurs, about a metre tall, but their four legs ended on paws, rather than hooves. But despite his small stature, the man behind the bar wasn’t messing around. Experience had taught me that.

As had the eight-foot-tall Denzogal bouncer over by the door. He was more like a yeti, all thick muscle and shaggy fur. He was as polite as an eighty-year-old granny, but he’d have no hesitation whatsoever to pick up my drunk, human ass and haul me out the door.

Politely, of course.

“I can’t force you to go home,” the bartender said, with a world-weariness that seemed out of place on him. He was usually more cheerful than that. “But I’m not serving you any more alcohol.”

I gave a token grumble, then pushed off the bar and managed to get my legs under me before I face-planted into the floor. “Whatever, man. See you whenever.” I stumbled my way across the room and out the door, which the bouncer helpfully held open for me. I might have even thanked him for it, if I had the presence of mind to remember that sort of thing.

It didn’t take long to walk home. Just around the corner, across the street, then up a small hill. I’d walked this route hundreds of times now and I knew it like the back of my hand.

God, that thought all by itself was depressing. I stopped under a solar-powered streetlamp, caught in a rare moment of introspection. Was this going to be it, then? The endless routine for the rest of my sorry life? Wake up, spend the day getting as drunk as possible, then pass out, only to wake up and do it all again?

But what was the alternative? Wake up and actually face the darkness? The myriad of demons in my head? No, thank you. I’d rather put a bullet through my skull. And god knows there’d been enough nights in the last year when I’d seriously contemplated that course of action.

I started walking again, successfully avoiding thinking about anything until I stumbled through my front door and caught sight of the dejected figure sitting slumped on my sofa. In daylight, his skin – or scales, rather – would be a beautiful turquoise-blue. In the dark, though, he looked more grey than anything else.

Dax. My unintentional flatmate, and, through no fault of his own, the current bane of my existence. He was a dimari; a Vangravian slave who had somehow ended up in my care. The universe had a strange fucking sense of humour to lump us together. Or maybe the gods were actually sadists who wanted to watch the pair of us drive each other insane.

Dax was fifty per cent of the reason why I felt so fucking awful about my life, and one hundred per cent of the reason why I didn’t want to go home at night. The other half of the reason I felt awful was… well, it was something I didn’t want to think about.

“Have you eaten dinner?” I asked him, as gently as I could manage. I didn’t bother turning on the light. Dax was sitting in the dark, as he usually did, and light would only emphasise how fucking miserable he looked. I didn’t need to deal with that right now.

“No, Master,” he replied, in a low monotone.

I flinched at the title, as I always did. Master. That was the unfortunate thing about dimari. They were programmed – using some high tech neuro-engineering bullshit – to bond irreversibly to their masters and then they were compelled to obey them for the rest of their lives. And by some godforsaken mess of a set of circumstances, I had somehow ended up as Dax’s imprinted master. Regardless of the hideous fucking job I was doing of it.

“Get yourself something to eat, then,” I told him. I was a disaster, I’d never deny that, but I at least tried to look after Dax. When I wasn’t trying to deny his very existence, that was. “I’m going to bed.”

“Yes, Master,” he said, standing up woodenly from the sofa. He shuffled off towards the kitchen, and I headed for my bedroom, before I could spend any more time thinking about how much I was fucking up Dax’s life, as well as my own.

I undressed and lay down, still in the dark, and waited for unconsciousness. Three minutes later, when I was still very much awake, I sat up and flicked on the light on the nightstand. Clearly, I had been right before, and I was not yet drunk enough to forget about the world. But that was okay. There were solutions to that. I got up and opened my closet, pulling out a three-quarter full bottle of vodka. Here’s to a dreamless sleep, I thought, as I unscrewed the cap.