Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 9

suspended in human form," Von ordered. "And restrained at all times. This one is to be allowed no reprieve. There's no telling what form he's capable of."
    Rhys nodded. "Of course."
    "He's to be chipped, scanned. I want a full analysis." Von spoke with a child-like excitement that Rhys found particularly unnerving. He'd never seen him so animated. Von turned to leave, but as he got to the door, he turned to face Rhys.
    "No one is to touch him, no one is to enter this room without my express consent to do so." Von gave a pointed nod to the surveillance camera. Then he stared at Rhys and grinned. "Sin is mine."
    Rhys nodded again and set about the initiation procedure: micro-chips, registration, blood analysis, retina and cerebral cortex scans. These tests were protocol for all new acquisitions, and these tests didn't bother Rhys too much. They weren't too invasive.
    Not like the tests which followed.
    Rhys shook his head, not wanting to imagine this beautiful creature enduring what Von had in mind. Yes, Von owned him now. But Rhys vowed to himself that wouldn't always be the case.
    Rhys would save him. Rhys would protect him.
    Though he couldn't understand the pull to this creature, Rhys vowed, no matter the cost, Sin would belong to him.
    CHAPTER 2
    Sin knew he was bound. Even lapsing in and out of consciousness, he knew he was restrained. His body ached, he was suspended in a human form, unable to change. His usually sharp mind was hazy and unable to focus. Normally able to transform into any chosen form with just a thought, his mind was now dense sludge.
    And when he would wake, even for just moments at a time, he remembered. Just snippets. Flashes.
    He remembered the meteor shower, shutting down the electrics in his ship, the impact. He remembered finding a shelter, watching the only link to his home—his life—burn to nothing. He remembered the feeling of being watched. He remembered the human approaching him and changing into a similar form to greet him.
    Then nothing. Darkness.
    And as he slipped from his dreams to a blurry awareness, he heard voices.
    Some close, some far.
    Some kind, some… not.
    He knew he wasn't alone. He could hear screams and cries from rooms close by.
    And then there was the burning.
    At first, Sin thought he was dreaming. The nightmares that had taunted his dreams were horrific, but all too soon, he realized this was actual physical pain; unbearable; excruciating.
    Confounding.
    It shouldn't have been possible that he survived it.
    Not the first time.
    And not the countless times after.
    Sin knew it was coming. The humans in the white coats came with syringes of different colors. Sin could smell the acidity, the caustic odor they injected into his body before he felt it lick at his veins.
    And he burned, from the inside out. Whatever they injected into him was like acid. It varied, the level of intensity, the severity. His throat stripped raw from screaming, his muscles spent, his bones felt brittle, and he'd fall into unconsciousness again. He welcomed oblivion.
    Then his only to wish was to wake from his dreams, horrendous, sickening chemical induced nightmares. Sometimes the dreams of his home, of his family, were worse. Pleasant and peaceful, but dreadful all the same, because Sin longed for it, and he now wondered if he'd ever see home again.
    Sin tried to count the times. He tried to count the days, but he couldn't see the sun or the moons. He had no idea if it was day or night. He had no idea what was real or what was nightmare. Time had no meaning here.
    Though he knew time was passing, because the injections, the experiments, got easier to bear. He became more aware of what was around him.
    He was adapting.
    Adapting to the pain, adapting to the cold, to the sounds and to the scents of those who came into his room. He learned the scent of those who inflicted the worst pain and those who were kinder. The individual scents of the white coats who took statistics; injected him; tested him.
    But they deliberately kept his mind in a constant fog, and the first time he heard the men in the coats speak, he thought for certain he was dreaming. There were two voices, hushed, whispered.
    "Room eight was taken to Sector Five."
    "Dammit."
    "When's Von due back?"
    "Before morning." There was a beat of silence. "Rhys, what are you doing?"
    "Administrating a repressor. Lessens the pain."
    "Rhys, if Von finds out…"
    "Von won't find out."
    Then Sin felt the injection, and he realized why