Submissive by Anya Howard

the penchant his rehabilitation has allowed him to cultivate. His is pleased with you enough to request that you serve as his love-attendant in the prison when it is determined he is eligible. This may be some time, I have heard, but I will make the recommendation you be put in his service when the time does arrives.”
    The memory of the prison loomed before Gillian’s eyes. The image filled her with fear, and she started to plead that he keep her from the dreadful place, “Sir Douglas—”
    He lifted an eyebrow. “I am not finished. Aside from his favorable report of your talents, however, he also informed me that you addressed him in a manner unbefitting a submissive. Is this true?”
    Gillian was shocked. “All I tried to do, sir, was please him; let him know I found him…hot.”
    â€œHot,” Sir Douglas repeated, and his mouth tightened as if suppressing a smile. “Do you not realize by now that it is not up to a submissive to voice an opinion on whether the prisoner whom she serves is hot or otherwise?”
    Gillian nodded. “Yes, Sir Douglas,” she replied, but was shocked again when he lifted the crop from its loop.
    â€œGood, Gillian. Now, bend over the bed and hold on to the mattress.”
    Her heart thundered, and she was seized with earthly indignity.
    â€œNo!”
    For the first time, his tone was genuinely stern, “Now!”
    From the door of the bathing room, her roommates watched silently.
    â€œI pleased him,” she protested, “and no, I won’t bend over this bed!”
    His eyes flashed angrily and when he reached for her, she brought her forearm up sharply and knocked his wrist away. She turned before he could snatch her hand and bolted out the door. Down the corridor she fled, hearing him run after her.
    As she took off down the stairs, he shouted for aid. The guard downstairs came fast to block her way. He might have captured her at the bottom, but she ducked just in time and flew under his reach, and ran on through the front door and out onto the porch.
    â€œStop her!”
    Heavy feet pounded from the shadows of the porch as she fled down the steps to the lawn. From a nearby bush, another masculine shadow darted toward her. Reeling sharply, she ran toward the great oaks flanking the path. She could hear the men close behind, and had no idea where to go or how to avoid them for long. She thought of nothing but resisting that untried passion her spirit intuitively knew would be kindled were any man to correct her as Sir Douglas intended to.
    She dashed behind one of the oaks just as two of the guards passed by, and, suspecting the others were scouting the outer edges, she crept about slowly, watching for signs of their shadows. When she saw one of them emerge from under a branch, she sprinted to the great trunk on the opposite side of the avenue.
    A violet-green mist suddenly rained down over her. She was swallowed into a vortex of heat and scents so embracing that her terrified scream could not be released.
    But she heard one of the guards shout, “Here!”
    The next moment, the vortex released her and as she gasped for air, saw the guards running toward her from all directions. The first who reached her coiled his arms about her waist and hoisted her high into the air. She stomped her feet against the air itself, in fury at the terrible, invisible thing that had thwarted her escape. As she struggled in the guard’s arms, the others trotted up. One of these was Sir Douglas, and his eyes were incensed.
    But he turned and raised his eyes to something above them all, and said breathlessly, “Thank you, good Patron.”
    Gillian turned her head and looked, seeing, high in a branch above them, one of the glowing Ur’theriems. His wings were folded behind him and the front piece of a glimmering gold loincloth fell between his gigantic legs. He regarded her thoughtfully, and suddenly Gillian recognized his