Death’s Desire. Smerti Ohota

We fell asleep by the fireplace, on the carpet and cushions covered with a single plaid. The last thing I remembered was hugging Cirkul's warm back and nuzzling my nose into the collar of his shirt. It was late morning and I stretched out and opened my eyes. I was lying on the bed in Grant's and my bedroom; it seemed he'd brought me here. The guy was in the dressing room, hangers banging together as he picked out clothes. I sat up on the bed and raised my hand to unravel the braid that had become dishevelled during the night, but I froze, unable to believe my eyes. My left wrist was now encircled by a bracelet almost identical to that of the president's son, only thinner and more feminine. A chain was attached to the strap. I was no longer on a leash; now our hands were joined by metal links. We were now equals. My heart stopped – the gift was too unexpected – and then started beating again as I glanced at the bedside table. In front of me was a shoebox containing a pair of trainers the colour of ‘eye-poison’.