Chapter 2

This was the first time I'd heard Clayton's voice. It was deep, husky, and magnetic.

"Venting," I replied.

His hands hung by his sides as he clenched his fists. "No…"

"Hmm?"

He let out a few muffled grunts. "That's not how you vent."

"I have no experience, so just bear with it," I replied.

I pushed him down onto the bed, gently kissing every bit of his wounds.

Clayton was still muzzled, his hands and feet bound by shackles. He let me do as I pleased.

His body remained tense, as if he didn't know how to react. At the crucial moment, he suddenly reached out and gripped my waist. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

He looked at me, his voice even hoarser as he replied, "I'm just a lowly beastkin."

My only response was my eager movements.

He groaned softly and closed his eyes, his long lashes fluttering slightly.

…

Early that morning, the sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warming my skin with soft, gentle rays.

My cheek was pressed against Clayton's taut muscles as I pulled my phone from under the pillow.

My friend, Helen Watkins, had sent me a text.

"Where are you? Did my weird little shut-in sneak home again?"

I replied," No. I bought a new venting beastkin yesterday. I was busy venting."

Lisa replied with a "?" before sending me a whole barrage of texts.

"Layla, how could you do this?"

"I know your beastkin isn't unruly, and you're upset, but you can't just get a venting beastkin and take it out on them!"

"You wouldn't hit your show-quality hound, but you'd take it out on a venting hound?"

"I'd have called the cops on you if you weren't my friend. I must've really misjudged you!"

I was stunned by her scolding and texted, "But I didn't hit him! How could I possibly hit my dog?"

Lisa paused briefly before replying, "Then how did you vent?"

I texted, "Well. I… vented the way you think."

We fell silent.

Venting beastkin were part of an illegal industry, usually involving kidnapping young beastkin or buying low-grade beastkin at low prices.

They were then put through a brutal selection process to single out the beastkin with strong bodies and rapid healing abilities to be selected as venting beastkin. Those who passed end up as human punching bags.

Venting beastkin were used for torture, beatings, and stress relief. Some were forced into underground arenas for gladiator-style duels. These beastkin, though pitiful, were widely regarded as wild and untamable.

Those rescued by official organizations could be adopted for free, while unclaimed beastkin were disposed of humanely.

"If you're regretting it, I know where he lives," came a deep voice from behind me.

I gasped, frantically dimming my phone screen before turning to meet Clayton's dull eyes. He lowered his gaze, avoiding my eyes.

"But he's part of an organization, so he probably won't be willing to give you your money back. While he's alone, I might be able to—"

"I don't," I replied, cutting him off. "As long as you do as I say, and follow only my instructions."

Clayton hummed softly in response. His expression remained unchanged, and only his ears twitched. Several faint scars marked his furry ears.

I couldn't resist reaching out to touch his beast ears.

His ears immediately perked up in alertness, then flopped back in retreat.

I withdrew, feeling a bit disappointed. Why was he unwilling to let me pet him, too?

"Sorry, I'm just used to it." He tried to relax his ears slowly, tilting his head slightly downward. "You can touch them now."

"If you still want to," he added.

I didn't hold back.

I rolled over and straddled his waist, my hands bracing against his chest as I ruffled his ears freely.

Clayton had such soft, warm ears, his fur a silvery white.

Clayton's breathing grew heavier, his body burning up with each second. He tilted his head slightly back, his narrowed eyes reddening at the corners as he stared intently at me.

I swallowed hard before asking, "Can we vent again?"

…

After leaving the hotel, I didn't go straight home. Instead, I took Clayton to the beastkin clinic.

The doctor said he was healing well and that the bruises and scars on his body were nothing to worry about.

He was just severely malnourished and needed to take various special supplements long-term.

The total cost of all the supplements was already higher than his net worth.