Chapter 3

Malcolm should eat more nutritious food.

Getting leftover food from the kitchen wasn't difficult. Besides, most of the dishes were barely touched.

Take that Crimson lobster, for example. The guests only nibbled the broccoli garnish and a bit of the meat. It barely looked any different.

My coworker grinned, holding a takeout box.

"Grace, if you don't want it, I'm taking it home!"

I hurriedly grabbed a plastic bag. "Share half with me!"

By the time I finished work, it was exactly 11:30 p.m.

The neon lights still flashed outside, but down in the sewers, rats poked their heads out.

People like me always lived in corners the light didn't reach, like the rats in the gutter.

Now I had Malcolm with me.

We would probably be relying on each other for a long time.

I packed the food and brought it home. When I saw Malcolm, I noted that most of his injuries had already healed.

Mermen healed fast. If someone didn't deliberately keep reopening wounds, the scars wouldn't be this bad. I didn't know what his previous owner had done to him to cause such deep damage to his tail.

I opened the takeout box, and the aroma filled the room.

Malcolm only glanced at it, showing little interest.

He kept flipping through the same magazine, even though I'm sure he'd gone through it nearly a hundred times.

I tried to coax him gently. "Dinner's ready."

He turned his head and scanned me from head to toe. There was a hint of curiosity in his deep blue eyes.

"Do I need to do anything?"

I was confused. "Like what?"

Malcolm pushed himself up slightly, his tail dragging across the floor.

The scales that had healed over the past two days shimmered with an almost dazzling, otherworldly color.

"Only good kids get to eat, but I'm not a good kid."

Malcolm's voice was low. "I bite, I hurt myself, and I just don't obey."

No wonder his previous owner had transferred him to me.

He let out a soft, dark laugh. "What about you? Don't you want me to obey?"

He leaned in, his tongue brushing lightly against my neck. Even his tone carried a strange, almost wicked edge.

"What about you, Master? Don't you want me to please you?"

He emphasized the word Master, and it sounded almost seductive.

But I suspected that back when he had said this to someone else, it had only been a prelude to trying to bite through their veins.

I pushed him back and shoved a piece of lobster into his mouth.

"Buying damaged goods like you is my bad luck, but I have no intention of forcing you," I said.

Beastmen came in two kinds.

Some could live independently, as humans do. Others were companion-type, entirely reliant on human care while offering emotional support in return.

You could apply through an agency, get approved, pay a hefty fee, and be matched with a suitable companion.

Because the cost was so high, private transactions were common. However, the quality of beastmen varied widely.

Malcolm was a perfect example. He was sharp-tongued, foul-tempered, and impossible to handle.

He had clearly been starving. His eyes went a little blank as he tasted the food.

I fed him slowly until he finished everything cleanly.

A drop of creamy mushroom soup slid down Malcolm's lips, looking almost tempting. He flicked out his deep red tongue and licked it clean.

Then, he went back to flipping through the old magazine.

I crouched by the storage box and rummaged around, somehow pulling out an ancient, clunky phone. It was heavy as a brick and took forever to boot up, but it could still connect to the internet. At most, he could listen to music or read e-books to pass the time.

I tossed the relic to Malcolm. He stared at it for a long while, speechless.

Finally, he managed to say, "Aren't you afraid I'll run away? For the past seven months, I was locked in a basement. I had nothing but a little water to keep from dying. Nothing else. There were bare walls on all sides, and every day felt empty. The only thing I could do was stare off into space."

Malcolm pressed his lips together, his voice hoarse. "Why are you being so good to me?"