One man's trash

By her own admission, she was already broken in. That saved him some effort. They reached Oleander's den, but there was no sign of the healer yet. It wasn't uncommon for him to take house calls. If he was out, he'd be back soon. Meanwhile, he stepped into the den. His new slave aboard his deer easily fit through an entrance built to allow wolves of his own stature entry.


The clomping of hooves echoed through the caverl as they stopped before one of the beds set out in the main antichamber. He grabbed her by the scruff once more, and without warning before depositing her on the bed. “My healer will check you over when he returns. Meanwhile, there are a few things you should know.” He told her, making up for his silence during the journey to the pack. “You now belong to the Armada. You will be sleeping in a side room to the den occupied by myself, my wife, and our children. You will see to any of their needs, but your primary objective is to answer to me. With me so far?” His voice was brisk, commanding, and gave no room for arguments. Not that he expected any from her. “I assume by the way I found you that I don't need to look over my shoulder for your previous master. Sounds about right?” She belonged to the Armada now. If anyone came knocking for her, he'd deal with them.