Owner of My Heart

Obedience

TW: trauma reactions, mentions of past abuse, sexual content w/ dubious consent

"I've never seen a full avian before," says the man as he carefully feels along the bones at the tip of my wing.

We're in an abandoned cabin, belonging to someone named Dream. It's small, a layer of dust on the rustic furniture and stone mantle suggesting it's been some time since anyone stayed here. The kitchen is just an ancient stove and workbench. A hallway leads to what I can only assume is the bedroom.

My captor — who had introduced himself as Punz when he was putting me onto the horse we'd found tethered to a tree some mile or so from the carriage crash — has been nothing but nice since arriving here. It's full dark by now, but there are several lanterns around the small living room that he's lit in order to examine my injuries. Having no firewood, the hearth is left cold and empty.

My shoulder, as it turns out, isn't broken. It is, however, dislocated and has to be popped back into place, something that was so painful that I doubt I could ever put it into words. Although it feels much better now, I'm still nearly paralyzed with fear as I wait to see what this new captor will do with me. I shiver uncontrollably as I sit on one of the dusty couches, legs curled under me and the hem of my dress tucked in to hide as much skin as possible. It doesn't help up top, though, where much of the thin, silk dress is stained with blood and clinging to my skin.

"What the fuck?" Punz mumbles, pulling his hands away from my wing and holding them up to the candlelight. My cheeks flush as I realize the powder to make my wings white is coming off. "That's crooked as fuck. Being an avian isn't special enough for you?"

Lowering my eyes, I murmur, "I'm sorry, Mr. Punz."

"Mr. Punz," he repeats, sounding amused. "That's a new one."

He begins patting my wings, knocking the powder loose, jostling my shoulder painfully in the process. I bit my lip to keep from making any sound, though, in case it upsets him further. I'd expected at least a beating for the deception with my wings, so this was a much more pleasant alternative.

When my wings are back to their usual brown-speckled appearance, Punz circles around to stand in front of me. He taps a finger against my chin, a silent request to look up at him, which I do. His eyes are cool, calculating, more gray than blue. A gold chain hangs from his neck, something an alpha would wear. He isn't an alpha, though, if his neutral presence and green apple scent are to be believed.

"What does that psychopath want with you, hmm?" Punz mutters, tucking one hand in his hoodie pocket as he studies me. Is he referring to Mr. Schlatt? He didn't seem like a psychopath, but, then again, was I really the best judge of that based on one brief encounter?

"I'm an omega," I say softly. "I'm supposed to be with my alpha."

"And who is that, exactly?"

"Mr. Schlatt."

Punz snorts, putting a hand over his mouth to hide a smirk. "Oh, fuck. That explains a lot. Listen, birdie, there's some good people in this world and there's some evil people. I don't know Jschlatt all that well, but, if I was an omega, I'd probably throw myself off a cliff before subjecting myself to that level of toxic."

I long to ask him to elaborate, to find out just why the things I've heard about him are so conflicting with the brief kindness he'd shown me earlier, but can't make myself voice the question. As it is, I flinch horribly when Punz pulls his hand from his pocket and reaches toward my face, convinced he's about to backhand me.

The motion doesn't go unnoticed, and Punz's eyes narrow as he studies me more critically. "There's a bruise on your cheek. Did that come from the crash or...earlier?"