Page 21 of Milk & Malice: Vadik

“You’re perfect,” he said.“My perfect little breeding cow.”

I didn’t reply.

I couldn’t.

Because deep down, some sick part of me believed him.

???

He washed his hands and wiped his face before getting the needle and vial for me. My skin burned where he said he took the grafts from—my thighs, buttocks, and upper arms. But there was also the dull pain from my stumps and head.

I watched him measure out a dose before he injected me with it.

My eyes closed at the relief.

My shame forgotten.

All that remained was my brain and my mutilated body.

Chapter 8

Vadik

I shook my head at my stubborn cow. Her eyes closed instantly from the hefty dose of morphine I gave her. I would need to monitor her carefully for the next few days. Nearly six days of pain, and for what?

Time.

I reminded myself.

She needed time.

My little milking cunt would soon have a little barn all to herself. In the meantime, I would continue to train her—to be milked and to take my fingers.

Viktor had been right about that.

I took my seat beside her bed and smoothed a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“You’re doing so well, Lena,” I murmured.“I know it doesn’t feel that way now, but I need you to understand how close we are to the next phase.”

Her gaze drifted, dazed, but she was listening.

“Eight weeks. That’s all it’s been. And already, your grafts have taken beautifully. No rejection. Minimal necrosis. I’ve monitored everything—you haven’t even spiked a fever.”

I placed my hand over her sternum, feeling the slow, rhythmic thump of her heart.

“The titanium anchors in your limbs are stabilising. They’ve bonded to your bones quicker than I predicted. You won’t bear full weight just yet, of course… but we’ll begin supported standing soon. A hoist. Gentle pressure. Controlled physiotherapy. Your muscle tension’s been preserved with passive manipulation.”

Her throat worked around a swallow.

“The hooves are ready. Perfectly aligned. Your weight will be evenly distributed across each hoof. No shifting. No buckling. Just balance. You’ll learn to stand before you ever walk.”

She didn’t blink.

“The horns haven’t shifted. Skin’s holding around the anchors. I’m watching the pressure points daily—adjustments will be made as needed. Eventually, I’ll braid your hair around the base. Like ribbons on a prize cow.”

Her face twitched. A tear slipped free.

Still listening.