Chapter 2: The Iron Collar

DOMINIQUE’S POV

After I’d been bought, things happened pretty quickly. A long black limousine appeared around the back of the auction house, and I was unceremoniously dumped into it by my buddy with the whip. Since then I’d been handed off from security guard to security guard, until I finally landed in what I assumed was to be my new home. For now. If they thought I was going to hang around long enough to find out what happened next, they had another thing coming.

The brusque knock on the door of what was essentially my latest prison interrupted my reverie. Back to escape, I needed to escape. I looked around the room for a weapon.

"Are you decent?" a man's voice asked from behind the door, "May I come in?"

"Yes, come in," I responded, while once again scanning my surprisingly opulent quarters. A cherry wood desk, carved with strands of ivy, stood sentry in the corner. A king sized bed took up the bulk of the room, covered in deep burgundy bedding. Heavy drapes framed stained glass windows, casting a delicate pattern of fleur de lis on the wall in the moonlight. Spotless bathroom with a large claw-foot tub.

Beautiful surroundings, but absolutely nothing that could be used to defend myself. My keepers had apparently thought of everything. Or at least, they thought they had. I was getting out of there, one way or another.

"Hello Ma’am," an older gentleman with surprisingly kind eyes greeted me, "My name is Collins, and the Master has sent me to take care of your needs."Collins was dressed as a butler, complete with white gloves and a black jacket with tails.

"The Master?" I asked, confused and more than a little alarmed at this phrasing, "Who is the Master, exactly?" If the guy who bought me called himself the Master, that wasn’t a good sign.

"Yes, Packmaster Griffin ma’am," Collins replied gently, "The Master wasn’t sure what you would be in the mood for, so he sent me down here with this."

To my surprise, he wheeled in a cart overflowing with food. Meats, bread, cheeses, and fresh fruit. All the things I had taken for granted in my former life. Despite my fear and anger at my current situation, the aroma of baked chicken and fresh bread made my stomach growl against my will. I hadn’t eaten in so long, I couldn’t help myself. I tore a drumstick off the chicken with my bare hands and bit into it immediately. It was perfect. Or I was starving. Probably both.

"Thank you," I managed to get out between bites, "This is delicious!"

Whoever the Master might be, he knew how to put out a good spread for guests. Then I wondered why. I wasn’t a guest, I was a slave. I had to remain focused. I couldn’t afford to drop my guard. Nobody buys a woman for millions of dollars to have her just hang around a mansion, I thought, ominously. There had to be a catch.

"I’m very glad, the Master will be pleased," Collins told me with a light chuckle, "Do you require anything else?"

I didn’t want to push my luck. Then again, since he was offering… I decided to take a shot. What did I have to lose, I thought, the worst he can say is no.

"The thing is, I would love to take a bath. And change. This outfit is, um, uncomfortable,"I replied, and gestured to what little there was of it, "I need something to cover up. Please."

"Of course Ma’am," Collin said, and I could have sworn I saw sympathy in his light gray eyes, "I will bring you whatever you require."

How about my freedom, I thought to myself, then realized that wasn’t necessarily a fair request to ask of him. Collins seemed like a decent guy, he wasn’t in charge of this whole situation. The Master, whoever he was, was probably the guy to see about that. Still, he did say whatever I required, and there was something else that was driving me crazy.

"And, I don’t suppose you could take this off of me?" I gestured to the collar around my neck, "I’m not crazy about it, to be honest."

"You are a slave, and as such, you must wear the iron collar," Collins told me, with a note of regret in his voice, "I am sorry, but it is the pack rules."

"Whose rules?" I asked warily, "Who is it that decides these things?" I felt myself getting angry, and I tried to tamp it down. It wasn’t Collins’s fault that I was in this situation.

"The pack rules," Collins replied, somewhat evasively, "Those who serve wear the iron collar in these parts. You are a slave. You belong to the Packmaster. That request I cannot fulfill. And I am sorry."

"Ok then, fine," I replied with a sigh, "How about towels, soap, shampoo, and clothing please. Anything but what I’m wearing." I didn’t even care about the iron collar at the moment. Iron collar, slave, whatever he was calling me. I could deal with all of that later, I thought, when I got out of this situation.

"Yes Ma’am, right away," he said, gave me a small smile, and exited. He closed the heavy oak door, and I heard the lock click into place. I sighed. Apparently, I wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

However, since I was starting to feel a little better physically, I was able to reflect upon my current situation. This was not the usual prison fare. And certainly was not what I had been feasting upon in the dark month since my first capture. I had been lucky in those days to get anything at all. Stale chunks of bread, some water. Not all of us survived. I was lucky, comparatively speaking. I was still breathing, though the experience had left me physically weakened.

Not a good place to start if I wanted to get out of here. Which I needed to do. I wasn’t about to hang around waiting for whatever the "Master", whoever he was, had in mind for me. Even if he did have a good chef and excellent taste in decor, I sincerely doubted that he had just spent that much money on me without a very specific plan. I shuddered to think about what that plan might entail. After all, that business about the iron collar wasn’t a good sign. I belonged to no one but myself.

***

GRIFFIN’S POV

I wanted to go to her, to see if she was well. To assure her that I meant her no harm. But I didn’t want to frighten her. I felt rage when I thought of her on that auction block. I found myself clenching my fists when I thought about that shifter with the whip. At the thought of what could have happened to her. What might have already happened to her. All I wanted to do was keep her safe.

"How is she, Collins?" I asked him, tentatively, "What happened?" I was nervous, which I realized, dimly, was an insane way to feel under the circumstances. According to our laws, I had just bought her as my slave. But all that didn’t matter. I didn’t believe in slavery, and I was worried about her.

"She is fine sir," he assured me with an amused smile, "Apparently famished, but fine." I wasn’t sure if the amusement was directed at me or my new guest, but quickly decided that it didn’t matter. She was fine. She was safe.

"She ate then," I asked, and hearing the anxiety in my own voice tried for a more even tone, "What happened? What did she say?"

"She ate almost an entire chicken," Collins replied with a wry smile, "Then asked for toiletries and a change of clothing sir. I told her that I would bring her anything she needed."

"Very good, very good, thank you," I replied, with a sigh of relief, "Please bring her anything she requests."

"Yes sir, very good," he said with a nod, "I shall."

Collins was always so formal with me, it drove me crazy. He was from the old school; his family had been butlers for generations, and he invariably followed the traditional rules of the job. I kept telling him that he didn’t need to do that, but to no avail. I decided to try again.

"You don’t have to call me 'sir'," I reminded him with a sigh, "Seriously. Griffin will do just fine."

"Yes, Sir Griffin," he replied solemnly, apparently not hearing how ridiculous my latest appellation sounded, "Very good."

Wonderful, I thought, now I was "Sir Griffin". Just what I needed. I would correct him later. I had more important things to attend to. Such as how I was going to convince her to trust me. And what place I would find for her in my pack. I had some ideas.

"Sir Griffin? She did have another request," Collins said tentatively, "That I remove her iron collar."

"Oh, yes, that," I replied with a sigh. I’d forgotten about that damned collar, "What did you tell her?"

"That slaves in these parts must wear them," Collins replied, his voice carefully neutral, "That it was a request I could not grant her."

I didn’t agree with the rules that stated she needed to wear it. But I hadn’t had time to do anything about changing those rules yet. So she needed to wear it for now. I would explain it to her. Somehow.

"Excellent, Collins. See that she gets what she needs," I told him, "We will speak later."

"Very good, Sir Griffin."

I needed to speak with her, to convince her that I meant her no harm. That in fact I had bought her to protect her. I just didn’t know how I was going to do that yet.