Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
I wonder if he will step into one of the cubicles. I’m relieved when he passes the last one and instead enters a room with actual walls at the far end. I’m not remotely fond of the idea of being here, but if I must be, I’m glad his office isn’t out in the open.
I stiffen when my gaze settles on the cage in the corner of the room. It’s not a crib. Neither is the bed I sleep in. It’s a prison cell. It’s hard to hold my tongue when he sets me next to the enclosure, removes his end of the leash from his wrist, and pats my bottom. “Go on inside. I have a surprise for you.”
No matter what his surprise is, I’d rather forgo the promised gift and stay on this side of the cage.
“Isla,” he warns in a low tone. “Now.”
At his demand, I crawl forward, deciding the only thing more humiliating than climbing into this kennel would be getting my bottom spanked in front of his entire staff.
The chain of my leash drags between my legs as I enter the confined space. Apparently, he’s not going to take it off. Sometimes my collar weighs heavily around my neck, but it’s the worst when he has multiple chains attached to it. In this case, I’m already wearing the tight chain that extends between my legs. This new one makes it more difficult to keep my head up.
I’ve grown more accustomed to the increased gravitational pull on Venkoria with each passing day, but adding a collar and a few chains makes holding my head up even harder.
The space is confining. I could lie on my side with my knees curled up to my chin or sit straight with my legs crossed, but that’s about it. I turn around to glare at Daddy. He’s not looking directly at me, though. He’s opening a drawer on the side of his desk.
Confused, I frown as he pulls out a bag that sounds like it contains a bulk of something small inside. But the air leaves my lungs when he removes a metal bowl from the desk and pours some of the contents into it.
Oh heavens, no. I pray this isn’t what I think it is. But my prayers fall on deaf ears because the next thing I know, Daddy is setting the bowl in the kennel with me.
“Surprise,” he declares as if I’ve won a prize. “It’s kibble. Especially designed for Little human pets. I think you’ll like it. Yamal says the other pets enjoy it. I bet you’re getting tired of nothing but formula.”
I am tired of the formula. That part is correct. But the thought of eating small, dry pieces of whatever this is makes me want to scream at him.
I’m not a pet.
Instead, I reach forward, grab the door to my enclosure, and yank it closed. I essentially lock myself in, the resounding snick seeming to deafen me. It’s a small act of rebellion, but it won’t go unnoticed. My defiance will be punished.
I turn away from the locked door, curl into a ball, and lie facing the wall. I don’t want to face my owner right now. I don’t want to eat his stupid pet food. I don’t want to be locked in a kennel with a leash hanging from my neck.
I want to be free.
It’s not going to happen, probably not ever in my lifetime, but I need some time to think. I need to mourn my prior existence. Wrap my head around what’s expected of me.
Sucking my stupid pacifier harder than ever, I stay very still. Maybe he’ll think I’m napping. I doubt it, but it would be better than interacting with him while I’m so angry.
I’m not a pet.
Daddy sticks a hand through the slats of my jail and grips my collar.
For a startled moment, I think he’s going to pull hard, forcing me to face him. But that’s not what happens. His hand is gone almost as fast as it touched my collar.
Several minutes pass before I’m aware of another man entering the office. And then I’m stunned when he speaks. I can’t understand a single sound. I haven’t heard this odd language since the day I arrived.
Daddy responds to the man in his native tongue, too.
I slide my hand to my neck, wondering if he did something to turn off my translator. I suspect so. It’s probably my own fault. My punishment for being defiant. I don’t think I even care. Let him shut me out. He’s a big meanie anyway for putting me in a cage.
I’m infuriated further when Daddy drapes a cloth over my kennel, putting me in the dark. I don’t move, though. I remain on my side, simmering.
After a while, Daddy reaches around to the side and sets a bottle through the slats. I can see it without moving my head. I ignore him and the bottle.