The Only Puppy You Need

I bought a champion-class service beastkin, and he doesn't like me.

He only wags his tail for my sister.

Later, I brought home a low-class stress-relief-type beastkin.

But the first one looked like he was about to cry.

Zoey, I'm the only puppy you should be keeping!!

I was drunk.

Sitting outside the bar, smoking to sober up.

A vendor sidled up nervously, voice hushed. Miss, you look stressed. Need to blow off some steam?

I've got a stress-relief-type beastkin who can help you blow off some steam.

I waved away the swirling smoke. What?

The vendor glanced around nervously before signaling to a figure lurking in the shadows.. A beastkin approached.

He was a wolf-dog type, tall and lean with broad shoulders and a narrow waist.

The vendor yanked brutally on the crude collar around his neck, forcing him down onto one knee.

He unclasped the rusty muzzle.

Grabbing a handful of hair, he jerked the Hybrid's head back, forcing him to look up..

Pale skin.

Sharp nose.

Thin lips pressed tight together.

Bruises marred his brow and the corner of his mouth.

His narrow eyes watched me with a feral intensity.

The vendor slapped his cheek roughly. See, Miss? With a face like this, even hitting him would feel satisfying, right?

I swallowed, feeling a stir of interest. He was exactly my type.

And the doctor did say my hormones were out of whack. I needed to de-stress.

But I already had a wolf-dog beastkin at home.

Ash wouldn't like it.

Seeing my hesitation, the vendor kicked the beastkin. Up. Show the miss your muscles.

The beastkin rose slowly.

Chains wrapped around him, he could only awkwardly peel off his black T-shirt with one hand, revealing lean, well-defined muscles on his pale torso.

But his body was covered in bruises and dark marks.

The vendor quickly re-fastened the muzzle, patting his powerful bicep.

See, miss? Great stamina, amazing recovery.

Two grand for two hours. Just let it all out. As long as you don't slit his throat or drain him, he'll bounce back.

Slit his throat? Drain him? I recoiled. Had people gotten that twisted?

Damn.

Whatever. The one at home wouldn't let me touch him anyway. If this one was cheap and obedient, maybe it was worth it.

I stood up, a bit woozy from the booze. How much to buy him outright?

Heh, that ain't cheap. The vendor rubbed his hands. He's top-tier stock.

Name your price.

Alright, Let's say$ 59,999.

I paused.

My service wolf-dog beastkin, Ash, cost my parents millions as a gift.

This one was surprisingly affordable.

"Too much?"

"Fine, I'll shave it down. $59,000.

In the end, I bought Ivan for fifty grand.

I didn't feel like going home.

So I took him to a hotel.

Before leaving, the vendor warned me repeatedly.

Don't remove the muzzle until he's fully tamed. And better keep the chains on, too.

In the hotel suite, Ivan stood motionless by the entryway, eyes downcast.

Like a silent statue, waiting for whatever came next.

I took a shower, wrapping myself in a towel. I didn't dare remove his restraints.

You should shower too.

He stared at me for a few seconds, then turned into the bathroom.

The sound of running water started.

A few minutes later.

I knocked. I left my phone in there.

He hadn't locked the door.

It swung open.

Ivan froze, his back to me.

His tall frame was bare. His skin was unnaturally pale, making the bruises and welts stand out starkly.

Rusty chains were still wrapped around his wrists.

Dirty water mixed with blood from a cut on his forearm traced paths down his spine and over the defined muscles of his abdomen, finally gathering at his calves before swirling down the drain.

His tail hung low, trembling slightly.

His fur wasn't sleek and shiny like Ash's back, it was dull and coarse.

He looked both fragile and wildly dangerous.

A wave of drunken boldness hit me.

I moved closer, wrapping my arms around him from behind, kissing the bruises on his spine.

Ivan flinched violently, his whole body tensing. What are you doing?

His voice was low, rough, and gravelly. It was the first time I'd heard him speak.

stress-reliefing, I answered.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

That's not how it's usually done.

Hmm?

He let out a low groan. This isn't the normal stress-reliefing way.

I don't have much experience. Just bear with me.

I pushed him onto the bed, carefully tracing every mark on his skin with my lips.

Still muzzled and chained, he lay still, letting me do as I pleased. His body remained rigid, as if unsure how to respond.

At the crucial moment, his hand suddenly clamped around my waist.

Are you sure?

Hmm?

He looked at me, his voice even huskier. I'm just a low-class beastkin.

My answer was impatient, decisive movement.

He groaned, closing his eyes as the room filled with the sounds of our coupling.

Morning.

Sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warm and soft on my skin.

My cheek pressed against Ivan's firm arm muscle, I fished my phone from under the pillow. A text from my best friend, Cole.

Where are you? Did my weird little shadow sneak back home again?

I typed back.

Nope. Bought a new stress-relief-type wolf-dog beastkin. Was busy last night.

Cole: []

Zoey Bennett, what kind of person are you!?

I know you are upset that Ash ignores you, can't go around beating up some stress-relief mutt!

ou won't lay a hand on your champion-class pup at home, so you take it out on this one? If you weren't my friend, I'd call the cops. I'm so disappointed in you!

Her words stunned me.

No, I didn't beat him! How could I ever hit a puppy?

Cole paused for a few seconds.

Then how did you 'relieve stress'?

You know... we had sex..

Silence hung between us.

Cole launched into an explanation.

Stress-relief-type beastkin are part of an illegal industry.

They steal hybrid pups or buy cheap, low-class ones.

Then they torture them to screen for the physically strong, fast-healing ones to become stress-relief-type wolf-dogs.

They abuse them to test their physical resilience and recovery.

The ones that survive either become living punching bags for humans to take out their frustrations on, or they get forced into underground fighting rings.

These beastkin might be pitiful, but everyone knows they're wild and untamed.

Even after official rescues, they're offered for free adoption.

Unclaimed ones are humanely disposed of.

If you regret it, I know where that vendor hangs out.

A low voice came from behind me.

I started, quickly locking my phone screen and turning over to meet Ivan's dim, resigned eyes. He looked away..

"But he's part of a group. They probably won't give your money back." He paused. "If I catch him alone, I might be able to"

I don't regret it. I cut him off. As long as you behave.

Only to me.

Okay. He agreed softly.

His expression didn't change, but his ears twitched.

Furry ears bearing faint scars.

I couldn't resist reaching out to touch them.

His ears instantly pricked back, flinching away.

I pulled my hand back, disappointed.

This one wouldn't let me touch him either?

Sorry. Force of habit.

He tried to relax his ears, tilting his head slightly. You can touch now.

If you still want to. He added.

I swung a leg over his waist, straddling him, hands braced on his chest, freely kneading his ears.

They were silver-white, soft, and warm.

Ivan's breathing deepened, his body heating up beneath me.

He tilted his head back slightly, the corners of his narrow eyes reddening, gaze locked on mine.

I swallowed.

Can we do it again?