Raw Winter

Chapter 7: Play Fetch

It wasn't as bad as Winter thought it would be, but it was still bad. He was quick and surgical about the whole thing as if it bored him, but it made her feel sick to know he had so much control over her. She just stared at the ceiling, waiting for it all to be over with. She had considered begging Charlet to break her teeth or to do anything to prevent this that morning, but that morning she felt ashamed of what she had said and done the night before.

She felt relieved when his inspection was finally over, and she could finally cover herself. She expected him to send her away when he had been so nonchalant about it, but asked her, "What tricks were you taught while we were away? I hope he didn't completely neglect to teach you."

She frowned, her eyebrows knitting together, but it wasn't as if this wasn't explained to her. She answered, "I can't imagine what you mean."

"I hate how you talk in the high tongue. A girl like you should speak the language of commoners. You're too educated for your purpose," he muttered derisively, his nose scrunching in disgust.

"What am I for then?" Winter asked, but regretted it when his eyes sparked with cruelty.

"You're a bitch. Don't you know? You drink and eat from bowls on the floor. You eat scraps from the actual people's table. Your only use is to please your master, and you haven't even done that yet, have you? If you speak in the high tongue, you ought to speak like the dog you are," he spat.

"Please my master?" She replied, her voice low because she already had a good idea of what he meant, but she didn't want to hear him say it. "I haven't been in the same room with him."

The man hooked one of his bony fingers into the collar of her blouse and dragged her closer, hissing with hot breath in her ear, "if you didn't know, I'm the real master here. If you want things to be simple for you, I suggest understanding that sooner rather than later."

His frown made distinct creases in his face as he found using the cloth of her blouse wasn't nearly as effective as he wanted. He turned to gather something that looked both simple and complex. The meaning was clear enough as he clicked the strap around her neck, but she still couldn't believe he had put an actual collar on her. He repeated, "As far as we're all concerned, you're a bitch, and you should have learned how to act like it."

"Yes, doctor," she replied. She said it as nonchalantly as she could manage and saw how quickly it infuriated him.

He hooked his finger under the collar he gave her and dragged her until he brought her to her knees. He snapped, "What is your name?"

She expected he expected her to say 'bitch'.

"Winter."

"Winter?" He replied. "RRRRWinter," he repeated. Every time he said it, the growl was harder and harder to separate from it. "What is your name?"

"Win--"

"RRRWinter"

"Wi-"

"RRRTER,"

"Winterrrrrr," she finally said.

"That's right," he said as he shoved her back, though his face scrunched in distaste. "If I hear you speaking that high language with anything other than a growl, I'll maim you, and I'll tell your Sir Nevel it was a necessary accident. I hope you understand which of us is in control. Not your mommy, Charlet, and not that blithering oaf. I am. If you say anything to him, I promise it'll only make you sound like a stupid bitch, and I'll make sure you say nothing again."

She stared, her stomach churning and hands clammy. She knew she should believe him, but a part of her didn't believe he had an actual sting to him. There was a part of him that felt like bluster. That evil spark appeared in his eyes again, and he chuckled as if he could smell the doubt on her.