The Human Slave Mated To The Alpha king

Chapter 6

Kiara pov

I walked in and saw I wasn't the only audience he'd invited to my execution's aftermath. His beta and Raphael were both there, but they filed out the second the guards shoved me through the door, Raphael brushing past close enough that I felt the air move. I didn't spare either of them a glance. Small mercies. I was saving what was left of my nerve.

The door shut behind me. I heard the lock turn, that specific, final click that meant whatever happened next, happened without witnesses.

He stood near the window with his back to me, hands clasped behind him, unbothered, like I was furniture he'd ordered and was mildly curious to inspect. The room told a different story than he did a table on its side, glass scattered near the far wall, catching what little light made it through the curtains. Something had happened in here. I filed that away and said nothing. Asking questions of a man who'd just made me his property seemed like a fast way to end up part of the glass.

"Please let me go," I said, straight to the point, because dignity was already gone and I had nothing left to spend on working up to it.

"It's master," he said, turning to face me, correcting me like it cost him nothing at all.

"Master, please let me go," I repeated, forcing the word out even though it sat wrong in my mouth, like something borrowed that didn't fit.

"Why should I? I'm not holding you captive."

I actually laughed. Couldn't help it. One short, disbelieving huff of air. "You're not... I'm sorry, what do you call this, then. A really elaborate vacation?"

Something flickered across his face. Not quite amusement. Closer to surprise that I'd talked back at all.

"You made me your personal slave," I said, dropping the sarcasm, my voice going low, tired.

"You'd have preferred to be Raphael's, then?" A step closer, arms crossing, his voice sharpening on the name like it tasted bad in his mouth.

"Hell no. I don't want to be anyone's."

"You don't want to be *mine*." He said it slow, deliberate, another step closer, like the word itself was a leash he was testing the give on. "What's wrong with being mine?"

The way he said *mine* like it was a fact of nature, not a decision, like the sun coming up made my skin crawl in a way I didn't have a name for. Not fear exactly. Something colder.

"I don't want to be anyone's personal slave," I said, my anger finally catching up to my fear and shoving past it. "I'd have rather been executed an hour ago than be your personal anything."

"Watch your tone, slave." His eyes flickered, black bleeding into that near-navy blue and back, unstable, quick. I knew I was standing in water that got deep fast. I stepped in anyway. Dying quick had started sounding less like a threat and more like an option I was actively rooting for.

"Why should I," I said, voice climbing. "You're a beast. A monster who kills humans for sport. Why exactly should I watch my tone for you."

"Don't push your luck, human." Jaw tight, every muscle in him coiled like a fist about to open or close, I genuinely couldn't tell which.

"Luck." I laughed again, and this one came out wrong, cracked at the edges, closer to a sob than I wanted to admit. "I've never had luck. Not once. Humans haven't had luck since your kind decided we were livestock with opinions. So forgive me if I don't know what pushing it is supposed to feel like."

"I see you have a death wish," he said, and something in his voice had shifted, less fury now, more disbelief, like he'd expected me to fold by now and was recalculating in real time.

"Yes." I stood as straight as my knees would let me and met him dead in the eyes. "Please. Kill me. Free me from this miserable world and spare me the joy of your company while you're at it."

I meant every word. Quick and over beat slow and endless, every single time.

"How dare you mock me." He crossed the room in two strides and closed his hand around my throat, lifting me half onto my toes.

Yes, I thought, closing my eyes, going still, letting my whole body go slack against his grip. A little tighter. Get it over with.

His hand let go like I'd burned him.

I opened my eyes. He'd stepped back, breathing hard, jaw working, staring at me like I'd hurt him worse than anything I'd actually said out loud.

"I see exactly what you're doing." His voice had gone flat, controlled, and that scared me more than the shouting had. "I don't hand out death to people who beg for it."

He turned and walked to the door, footsteps heavy, deliberate, and didn't look back once.

The lock clicked behind him.

I hit my knees the second I was alone, whatever had been holding me upright finally giving out all at once.

He wouldn't kill me.

He wouldn't let me go.

And kneeling there on a floor that wasn't mine, in a life I hadn't chosen, I was starting to understand those were the two worst things he could have done to me.