Trigger warning: descriptive violence, borderline torture, and death
I sat in my cage silently watching my new 'vender' AKA the person who would sell me to a new vampire master, or maybe not depending on how this goes.
I despise each and every time I got bounced to a new shop, the vender was always thoroughly warned about my behavior but thought they could break me anyways. *Idiots.* Trying to remember I put up with them for a reason I took a deep breath.
My looks and rare blood made me highly valuable. I had straight fiery hair with a constantly pissed off expression to match. Scrawny from too many starvings my blue and green eyes looked dead even as they glared at the vender.
Deep red gashes and dark bruises that were all too obvious on my pale skin were fading at a noticeable rate. My eyebrows were always perfectly plucked and my skin silky smooth without a single hair despite that being impossible when they hadn't let me around razors or tweezers.
I should look like a mess but I have a little more pride than that. Only a little though, I have to look the part at least a little.
My blood was even more rare than my looks as a hybrid. It was rumored that hybrid blood could heal faster and tasted better so why vendors put so much effort into me is no mystery.
Breeders had been pushing to make hybrids for a while but even if they somehow found a vampire willing to have a half werewolf child, and a passive enough werewolf, they don't know how sensitive hybrid pregnancies were. The mothers always had to be uninjured and well-feed; not like I was going to tell them that though.
If they could just learn to leave me alone I wouldn't hurt the 'trainers'. Beating a pet into submission worked for most, like the shaking blonde in the corner, but once the whips and hot irons came out, I always despised whatever poor trainer accepted the job of breaking me in.
Horrid smells assaulted my nose. Every pet shop reeked of infection, urine, and sweat. The smells of the humans and few werewolves in the shop mingled together. Didn't they realize they would probably sell more of us if we were bathed?
But unlike every other pet in the shop I had a goal. From worst to best the pets had established a system; target practice, sex slave, blood slave, chore maid, and true pets.
Target practice were pets that got whipped, ironed, or scolded with hot water for their master's amusement. Sex slave, blood slave, and chore maid were all as straight cut as they sounded.
A true pet was what every pet was scared to hope for, they were treated as pets, pampered and well cared for they were easy to envy.
Having been target practice twice I refuse to get trapped by a master who didn't at least make me a chore maid. Of course, there are other options, I could be killed for my blood or serve a vender as a door greeter, either of which sounded better than being whipped for fun.
One other ending was possible but I would rather die than see it come true. They could try to breed me. Even the thought sickened me.
If they tried I would fake my own death or risk it for real before I ever let it happen.
I glanced down at my plain white dress and red and orange anklets. Each pet wore a white dress often stained with blood and a colored anklet to signify how ready to be sold they are as far as behavior went. I was the only one with an orange anklet.
Werewolves always seemed to wear red anklets because they would always be 'potentially hazardous' and a different anklet for their actual behavior.
Orange was the worst behaved and they usually don't last long unless their pet shop has many customers that enjoy being able to punish pets.
The vendor put a plate of something that could only pass as food to the starving in my cage. It looked and smelled like puke.
"What's wrong, want something different?" The vender's gravelly voice hurt my ears. His greasy blond hair and horrible B.O. made him a nuisance to all my senses.
"Your head on a platter would be nice," I mumbled.
"You'll keep such comments to yourself."
"Make me," I snarled showing fangs. In a lot of ways I'm different than vampires. I only drink blood when I'm injured but otherwise, I don't need it. Obviously, I had a few werewolf traits as well, and interestingly enough a few traits exclusive to hybrids.
The vender only gave a cruel smile and whistled.
"How many?" The 'trainer' didn't even look at me.
"10 should do." Normally that would be minimal but in my condition 10 lashes would knock a human out of commission for days.
I'm half starved, battered, and I think one of my ribs is broken. If I was human I would be half dead.
When the guard reached into my cage and grabbed my wrist I pulled back, hard. The guard's head thudded into my cage and I latched onto his neck.
The bitter hot liquid ran down my throat and lit every cell in my body alive. A small purr sounded in my chest, the man was definitely a vampire but being a hybrid the type of blood made no difference to me unlike a full vampire.
Careful to leave the man alive I detached from his neck before being yanked out of the cell by my hair. The vender was fuming but I only smiled at him with bloody fangs, it was only fair they felt part of the fear pets did daily.
"He's still alive, isn't he? That makes him very lucky." I would be punished no matter what I said and being momentarily healed was a nice feeling. In all honesty the guard probably deserved to die but I refuse to kill anyone that hasn't proved that it was fitting.
"I guess I'll just punish you myself then." The vender practically pulled my arm out or socket getting me to the lashing pole in the back.
***
Strapped to the lashing pole with handcuffs I listened to the vender walk around. This was the only part that scared me, the actual punishment.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Lines of sharp pain erupted on my back as I whimpered. Each time one line crossed over another I grit her teeth, even if I could kill the vendor I had no plan with what to do after. Waiting for the whipping to be over I felt the blood run down my back.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
But this isn't the worst part, the worst part would be when it stopped and I started to heal. My adrenaline would be gone and I would feel the rawness on my back and how the wounds would stretch every time I moved. I pitied humans who had to feel the sensation for days.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
The whip finally came to a halt after an amount of time I couldn't guess through the drawn out pain and I breathed slowly with shallow breaths trying not to hurt my back. Hot water poured over my back causing me to scream and growl at the same time, the mix was terrifying even to my own ears.
The vendor would pay for this dearly, hell maybe I'd torture him so he understood how it felt. Stuck with my own sick, twisted thoughts I gripped the handcuffs until the chain bent.
I had no idea how many lashes were on my back or how bad it looked.
I'd lost count of the lashes ages ago.
Feeling my back throb in time with my heart I leaned against the pole. Growling softly I waited for the vender to decide I was important enough to deal with putting me back in my cage. *Asshole.*
I glared at the man as he walked in even as he put my collar on and attached a leash to it. Pissed but too injured to do anything about it I decided to wait for my back to heal some. *He'll pay for this.*
The vender led me back to my cage and clipped the leash and collar to the outside of it, it had been put in my file that other than for transfer cases I would break collars left on me, before roughly throwing me in.
The sun had set and the other pets shrank away from me, whether it was because of the stunt I had pulled with the guard, the lashes I had just received, or the fact that I'd learned long ago my eyes glowed in the dark I had no idea.
It could really be any or all of those reasons. Hell, it could be some reason I hadn't thought about.
Guessing more for showing face than actually caring my cage now contained a blanket like every other one. Already healing I glared at the vender one more time before falling asleep with the blanket carefully protecting my back.
It brought me a little satisfaction to ruin as much property of his as possible.