Page 42 of Ensnared

“It suits you.” He looks proud of himself, and I hate that it’s because I’m his creation, his pet.

“If you think?—”

He presses a finger to my mouth, and that beast inside of me roars. I want to bite his hand, but not in the way I should. I back up instead. “What?”

“For once, don’t argue. Don’t complain. Just say thank you.”

Penelope’s incredulity that I can argue with him, that I have free will around him, comes to mind. I wonder for a split second how much of my freedom is his doing. Is it because he’s weak that I have more latitude? Or is it because he’s not as harsh, not as controlling, and not as angry? Do I have the ability to be myself in this bizarre circumstance because he grants it to me? And if so, should I be more grateful and less angry?

The thought that I should be grateful to him for not cinching my leash tighter enrages me, and I can’t do it. I can’t be prudent like I should. “I hate it almost as much as I hate you.”

He sighs. “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t thank you, you horrible dragon.”

He smiles. “Mud dragon prince, to you.”

A van pulls up in front of the house. Ten humans climb out, one by one. They’re all wearing white shirts and dark pants. They’re all wearing sneakers. They line up in a row on the sidewalk, all of them staring straight ahead, all of them utterly calm.

“I was able to recruit humans who have already been subdued and taught.” He beams like he’s fishing for another thank you.

He’s lucky I don’t have anything sharp on hand. “Goodie.”

“I made sure two of them were food preparers before, so they should be adequate at preparing your meals.”

He’s acting like he’s my white knight when he enslaved ten people to do things I could be doing for myself. “I don’t want?—”

“Send them to the local stores for whatever you want, and anything they don’t have, tell me about. Some things are harder to obtain, but lots of things are in ready supply.”

Is he kidding? “I’m sure it’s hard to manage those sorts of tedious things.”

“Not really,” he says. “It’s basic administration, like ensuring the house next door is available for lodging your domestic help, and the homes on either side of that are reserved for Rufus and Gordon.”

“Wait, you’re saying we have the entire house to ourselves?”

“Other than me, yes,” he says.

“You’re not afraid I’ll, like, stab you in your sleep?”

“Oh, I’m always a little afraid you’ll stab me,” he says. “But the blessed don’t sleep. Not like you humans do.”

“That’s weird.”

“I think your sleeping is stranger, if you think about it. You lie still, or you toss and turn, while your mind churns, and you simply breathe and rest, like you’re dead.”

It does sound weird when he puts it like that.

“Your culture’s almost obsessed with it, buying beds and decorating rooms and preparing medicines and schedules and routines, all so that you can lie around and do nothing. Meanwhile, some people brag about how much they sleep, while others boast that they barely do it.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I told you, before we came, we did research. And now that we’re here, that has continued. We’re forced to integrate with you until we can locate the heart.”

I hate their stupid heart. “I’ll be praying you find it tomorrow.”

He laughs. “Unlikely. It’s surely hidden well, and the humans who know about it won’t want to part with it at any cost.”

“I really don’t think any of us care,” I say. “And wouldn’t I know, as a human myself?”