Wren's POV

Jackson Carmillan of Carmillan Collars. The metal collar around his throat hadn’t felt so tight, so restrictive in a long time. I think I know how the collars work better than you do, the words echoed in Wren’s mind.

Wren stayed on edge. He wasn’t going to trigger any anger in Jackson for as long as he could help it. Silence had always been his best friend. He couldn’t say the wrong thing if he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to guess the right choice if he just waited until the choice was made for him.

He knew he stunk. He knew his hair had grown out to a better length but had become unmanageable in the process. The makeup caked on his face itched. He wanted to be clean, but he didn’t want the bath. His old owner was bad enough, a bucket of cold water tossed over him to clean off the blood after a fight and it was called a day, he didn’t want to know how the Carmillan heir treated his wolf. What his idea of a bath would be.

Wren’s hair had been kept short under his old owner, unnaturally so. It made his fur thin and any protection he might have had in a fight was lost.

Any protection from the cold basement cell was lost.

That first step into the garden, surrounded by flowers… Wren never wanted to leave and wanted to hide away from all that space at that same time. It was entirely too short of a walk with his eyes trained directly ahead when all he wanted to do is look around, take in the colors, the smells. Hide in the shadows and hope he was never found.

Instead he stepped into a kitchen full of wolves. He tensed as the wolf at the stove scolded Jackson and scented the air. Jackson… apologized. He apologized to the wolf, to Margaret. His confusion only grew.

Then the bedroom door. Jackson’s bedroom door. His mind flashed to those nights his previous owner came home drunk, came home angry, or just got horny and wanted to feel powerful. He’d reacted, loud enough that Jackson had noticed and paused, then explained. Took the time to explain to him why they were at his bedroom rather than the cell he would be kept in.

It made following him into the bedroom easier, not that he had a choice either way. Then the bathroom, where he tried to keep his silence, but was commanded to answer. At least that answer was easy. He had no idea how to work the tub or shower. Even when he was young and with his mother and siblings, they heated water gathered at the river for baths. It was nothing like what was here, in front of him. It was nothing like the bucket of cold water.

Jackson turned around and Wren didn’t waste any time. He wouldn’t suffer the indignity of having a young human wash his body as in his unshifted form. He shed the clothes and shifted, remembering just a moment too late that he hadn’t taken off the sunglasses. If he shook them off he could break them, and that was a surefire way for this moment of peace, of relative painlessness, to come to an end. So he sat there, well aware that he looked like an idiot, until Jackson turned back around.

“The wolves here usually clean themselves as humans.” Wren couldn’t figure it out. No human ever referred to a wolf as human, even when their form was an almost identical copy to a humans. “Get in.”

He’d braced himself for the cold. Braced himself, even though he could see the steam. Braced himself for a cruel trick. Then his paw touched the water and warmth, blessed warmth. Not the unbearable heat of the sun on a too-hot day at that market place. Not the stinging burn of a lit cigarette being pushed against him. A comforting, embracing warmth that surrounded him and comforted the sore bones, muscles, aches he carried.

He sank down into the water, for a single, blessed moment, he forgot he was being watched. Forgot he was trapped in a neverending hell. For one, peaceful moment, he was in the wooden tub, and his mother was on her way back with another pail of heated water.

Jackson clearly thought he was completely stupid. It was fair enough. He listened to the expectations Jackson had… Then Jackson left. Wren waited for his steps to disappear and shifted back into human.

He carefully folded up Jackson’s sunglasses and set them outside of the tub, then sunk under the warm water. His shoulders hurt more so than the healing marks that he knew criss crossed his back.

He’d lost count of the days he wore those cuffs. Lost count of the days with the blindfold cutting off his vision. Long enough for his hair to grow and mat around the headband. His lungs ached and he came up for air. He could hear footsteps in the room outside the bathroom. He pushed his hair back, as much as he could with the tangles refusing to loosen then let his arms rest along the tub.

“I’m just bringing some clothes in.”

Wren froze where he was, arms out in the open and so exposed. He stared at the door and forced himself to relax. Stop his aching shoulders from tensing again. Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen. The door opened. Jackson stepped in. They made eye contact. Wren listened to Jackson’s heart speed up, speed up to a pace that matched his own. When several long moments passed with Jackson staring at him, he couldn’t keep up the facade of feeling comfortable. He started to sink lower into the water and Jackson jolted like he’d been shocked.

“Do you need anything else?”

Jackson left. Left without a single glance back at him. Wren was too uncomfortable to enjoy the warm water anymore. He grabbed the first bottle. The shampoo was scented. He wrinkled his nose in preparation for too much, too chemical, too artificial… but to his surprise it was lightly fragranced with lavender. It wasn’t harsh on his nose at all. He found himself breathing in deep as he did his best to scrub his hair clean.

The blindfold wouldn’t come out. Not when he rinsed the shampoo out. Not when he scrubbed and rinsed the conditioner. His hair was wound tight around the material. Wren wasn’t going to be able to get it out alone.

He wasn’t quite sure when the last time he’d felt so clean had been. The washcloth was thick and soft. The soap had the same soft lavender smell as the shampoo. The only thing he couldn’t do was get the thick makeup off. It didn’t matter how much he scrubbed at his face, the stuff acted like it had fused with his skin.

He gave up. If Jackson was mad that he didn’t get all the filth off, then he was mad. There was nothing more Wren could do about it. The tub drained and left a layer of grime. Wren wrinkled his nose at the dirt. He wiped it up with the washcloth, not daring to leave it dirty.

He dried off, perched on the side of the tub, and waited. The clothes were folded on the sink where Jackson had left them, but Wren didn’t want to dress only to undress and shift moments later… plus a part of him didn’t really believe he was going to be able to put those clothes on and leave this room, just like that. Not after he was given so much.

He was going to be expected to give something back.

The room on the other side of the door was suspiciously silent. The most he could hear was a very faint humming, and that was only when he really focused. The complete lack of noise from the room is why he was so startled when two knocks sounded on the door and Jackson stepped into the bathroom. Jackson kept his back turned to him.

“How’s it going?” Jackson asked. He didn’t know what the correct answer was, so Wren stayed quiet. “I’m going to turn around now.”

Jackson turned. Wren kept his gaze steady and straight ahead as he waited for the punishment. His face was still dirty. The blindfold was still attached. Jackson was quiet as he stared hard enough that Wren wanted to shrink in on himself. “Food’s here.” Jackson’s voice seemed too loud in the still bathroom. He stepped closer. Wren didn’t move. He couldn’t. This is exactly what he’d thought would happen. He prepared himself to be touched, turned around, taken over, even as revulsion swirled in his stomach.

“Oh. I hadn’t even realized… Hold on.”

Jackson turned to dig through the cabinet. Wren focused on his breathing. In and out. Slow. Steady. He couldn’t change what was about to happen, let it happen. Then breathe and get over it.

“Here.”

Jackson held out a thick wipe that smelled of chemicals. Wren was too worked up to reach out for it, not that he’d know what to do with it anyway.

Jackson hesitated.

“All right. I’m going to wipe your face with this. Stay still.” Wren tensed as Jackson reached for him. Jackson was gentle, though, as he ran the wipe along his jawline. The pressure gradually increased. Wren carefully didn’t look up at him. Instead, he listened to Jackson’s steady heartbeat. Jackson jerked his hand back. “What the heck is this stuff made of? Hold on.” He stepped to the door. “Oh, put the clothes on.” He gestured at the clothes Wren hadn’t wanted to touch then stepped out the door.

The silence was immediate. Jackson’s heartbeat vanished with the door shut. Not long after, a different, slower heartbeat appeared and walked away from them. Wren gave up trying to hear into the silence and slipped the sweatpants on. His shoulders hurt as he pulled on the shirt, but the fabric was much softer than the clothes the market owner had made him wear. He glanced at the door, then plucked up a section to run his fingers over it. He dropped it before Jackson could step in and see that he liked the fabric and take it from him.

He stretched a bit and rolled his shoulders, but he froze when he heard the slow heartbeat growing closer. The heartbeat vanished into thin air. Wren took a step toward the bathroom door. His heart ticked over into overdrive as he realized what he was about to do. Instead he returned to sitting on the edge of the tub.

Jackson didn’t know he thought about opening the door. Jackson couldn’t. Wren was not going to get in trouble for those thoughts. He took a deep, settling breath.

Jackson opened the door and shut it behind him. Wren didn’t jump, but it was a close thing. Jackson held a small white container in his hands. Wren swallowed down his nervousness. “All right. Do you want to do this or do you want me to?”

Do this? Do what? He sat, frozen. Jackson wasn’t giving him the slightest indication on what the right answer was, on what he wanted Wren to do. Jackson’s eyes closed and Wren’s heart sank into his stomach. He’d fucked up. Jackson was fed up with him.

“I’m going to rub this all over your face, then wipe it off with a cloth unless you tell me now that you don’t want me to.”

Did that mean Jackson wanted him to tell him he didn’t want Jackson to do it? Before his spinning mind could figure anything out, Jackson had some white cream scooped on his fingers. He stepped forward, between Wren’s knees and one hand pushed his head back.

Instincts took over. Wren growled, low in his chest, warning off anyone who thought he was submitting and Jackson froze. Several long seconds passed before he was able to stop growling. Then Jackson moved his hand and Wren was sure pain was incoming. His head was still tilted back, his neck on full display. It was too much. Too fast. Too different. He growled as the first bit of cream touched his skin. Jackson stilled.

“You can do it yourself.” His voice was soft. It sounded like an offer, like it was really up to Wren how the next moments went.

Wren stopped growling. Whether he meant it or not, growling wasn’t going to help anything. It wasn’t bad. The cream didn’t hurt. It was unscented and gentle on his sensitive nose. The only times Wren fought off another growl, was when Jackson’s fingers ran along his jawline and dipped beneath his chin. He managed to hold back any more sounds, but it was a close call.

Jackson dampened a washcloth and wiped off the cream. His touch was gentle against Wren’s bruised skin. Wren’s mind was spinning.

Jackson cleared his throat. “All right. Let’s eat.” He opened the bathroom door and looked back. Wren didn’t move. It felt like a trick. He was going to stand and follow and Jackson would laugh. He’d withhold dinner. Wren wouldn’t be allowed to eat, all because he’d assumed he was supposed to follow Jackson when he wasn’t. His spiraling thoughts were cut off when Jackson sighed. “Follow me.”

Wren stood and followed. Easy, clear instructions. That was what he wanted. Nothing else made sense.