“Stand before the Master, boy!” onegrowls. “And enjoy it while you can. You’ll be kneeling before him soonenough.”

Iam Havoc, Thrace reminds himself. I fear no male. I have honor and strength within. Such are thewords that his Sire has taught him—the lessons he tried to instill every day.But he isn’t there to teach Thraceanymore. He’s gone…dead…. He was killed while trying to keep Thrace from being sold to the malewho stands before him now, the one who calls himself Master.

Father, Thrace thinks, trying notto remember, trying not to see it all again. The shouting and the way his Sirehad struggled when the male from Gemma won his auction—won Thrace as his slave.

“No—you shall not have him! Not my son!”he had shouted, kicking and struggling against the security Crangs as theyattempted to lead him away. And then the man who had bought Thrace stepped forward with aweapon on his hand. He had pointed it at the center of his Sire’s broad chestand…and…

Don’tthink of it! Thrace orders himself but he can’t help it.Can’t help seeing the bloody, gaping hole that opened in his Sire’s chest…theshocked look on his face as he stumbled to his knees…the callous way the manwho is called Master threw a sack of clinking gold credit-coins at the slaver.

“For your trouble. I can’t stand mouthyslaves.”

The slavers had been more than happy withtheir compensation. Thrace’s Sire had been dragged away, leaving a bloody trailbehind his limp corpse and Thrace, still shocked and horrified, had been led inthe opposite direction. A day and a night in a dark cargo hold had followed andnow he was standing before the male who had killed his Sire and bought hiscontract. The male who now owned him body and soul.

Father, he thinks again, his throattight. What is to become of me?

He will not weep—it is weak and weaknessis not the Havoc way. But he can’t help the way his eyes burn when he rememberedhis Sire, the only parent he had ever known.

“Promising…very promising,” the Mastersays, appraising Thracewith small, greedy eyes. “Though you haven’t got your full growth yet, have youmy boy?”

Thrace looks down at himself. Havoc males don’treach full physical maturity until their eighteenth cycle and he is barelysixteen cycles old. He is a good height but not nearly as tall as his Sire—notyet—and his arms and legs are slender and undeveloped. He is strong for hissize but not strong enough to break the chains that hold him.

Not that strength and size did his Sireany good. He was killed despite his size…or maybe because of it. Doubtless theMaster didn’t think he could handle a full grown Havoc although apparently anadolescent one isn’t beyond him. So he thinks.

“A beautiful boy, just the same,” theMaster says, nodding. “Those eyes especially—lovely. And that tight littleass…” He has the guards turn Thracein a circle so that he can be admired from all angles.

It makes Thrace feel sick to be so displayedand he doesn’t like the hungry look in those small, greedy eyes. It is asthough he is a prime cut of meat the Master wants for his dinner. But herefuses to let his fear show. He glares back, never dropping his gaze when theMaster looks at him, taking the measure of the male who killed his Sire.

The Master is a medium sized male withthinning gray hair and rings on every finger. His rich robes of purplehalla-cloth cannot hide his paunch but they do proclaim him one of the royalelite of Gemma, not that Thracecares about that. He only wants to kill the male who killed his Sire. But inorder to do that, he must first get free.

“Very nice,” the Master says, noddingagain. “And look at that lush mouth. I think we should look into training thosesweet lips first. What do you say, eh boy?”

Thrace glares at him. “I say anything you put inmy mouth, I’m going to bite off, Master,”he growls.

But his threat only makes the Masterlaugh.

“A feisty one! I like it. It will makebreaking you that much more amusing.” He gestures to the guards. “Now leave us.I want some time alone with my new slave.”

“No!” Thrace tries to move away from theseeking fingers of his new master but he is trapped, unable to move, unable toget away. If only his arms were free…if only he could get his hands around theMaster’s throat…

** * * *

“Whoa—takeit easy, big fella!” Trin leaned over the thrashing slave. He was moaning andgrowling, making deep, hoarse sounds that reminded her of vids she’d watchedabout the Earth predators called lions. The deep bass rumble coming from hisvast chest was like the beginnings of a roar. It was unnerving but it alsoplainly signaled some kind of distress.

Trinwouldn’t have left one of her horses if it was in pain and she wouldn’t leavethe Havoc either. She had bought him and she was responsible for him—it wasthat simple.

“Takeit easy,” she murmured again, bending over him to press a wet towel to hissweating forehead.

Suddenlythe Havoc’s eyes popped open, showing that extraordinary silver-blue colorshe’d found so arresting before.

“Hey,”Trin said, frowning. “You’re awa—”

Beforeshe could get the word out, one muscular arm shot out and long fingers closedaround her throat.

Tringasped through her suddenly narrowed airway and beat against his broad chest.

“Stop—letgo!” she choked out, barely able to get the breath to talk. “Let go!”

Theslave’s eyes narrowed and he squeezed harder. He seemed to be mouthingsomething at her, some word she couldn’t understand. Was it…Master?

Trintried to tell him to let her go again but she couldn’t get any air. Brightspecks of light were beginning to dance before her eyes and she realized shewas beginning to lose consciousness. She had to do something quickly or shewouldn’t have to worry about what happened in the Demon’s Eye—she’d be deadlong before she got there.

Desperately,she fumbled at her belt but there was nothing there. Dimly she rememberedhanding the stunner to Sidna to prove she was protected. But had the medic evergiven her weapon back? Trin didn’t think so. They’d had their fight and thenSidna had stalked off, presumably taking the stunner with her.

Please, Goddess—I don’t want to die! shethought, gazing down into the glaring silver-blue gaze of the huge Havoc. I don’t want to die…

** * * *

TheMaster’s face was all he could see. The thinning gray hair, the greedy eyes,the fat jowls that quivered in anticipation when the Master came to get what hewanted…

Butsuddenly the hated face melted away. The thinning gray pate was replaced by along, black main of silky hair. The narrow lips turned full and lush—the colorof ripe berries. And the small, greedy eyes became large and dark and full ofpain.

Thrace staredin confusion as the transformation took place. Who the hell was this female andwhy was he choking her?

Gods—hewas choking her! Choking a female—hurtinga female! Though the Havoc did not bond with females for life like theirgenetic cousins, the Kindred, they still had a strict code of honor when itcame to the other sex. Foremost in that code was that a Havoc never, never physically injured a female.

Gods! He let her go, forcing hishand which had been clamped around her slim throat to relax and drop to hisside. She fell back choking, her hand going to her throat as she tried to get enoughair.

Thrace washorrified at what he’d done to her. Who was she, anyway? She looked likesomeone he knew or had met once in another life. She had creamy, light brownskin the likes of which he’d never seen before. It was beautiful…unusual…andvaguely familiar.