Human Rights

11502 Addison Chase Dr
Riverview, FL 33579

Publisher’s Note

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

The publisher has no control over and does not assume responsibility for any third party websites or their content. The uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.

Copyright © 2014 by S.L. Armstrong

All rights reserved.

Cover art by Nathie Block

ISBN-13: 978-1-62757-105-0
ISBN-10: 1-62757-105-1

Chapter One

I'd had three masters in my life, and still, here I was, in the pound. I was nothing but a mutt, after all, and when one of the purebreeds they'd wanted so badly came up for sale, I was on the way out. Wouldn't want to risk having the pedigree of an expensive, beautiful bitch ruined by a mutt's seed. It didn't matter that Puan had adopted me when I was but four years old and trained me herself. I was her favorite stud until she'd landed one of the red-coated females that came from the High Breeders. Within two days, I was fifteen and foisted off on one of Puan's friends.

But Lienx wasn't as nice as Puan, and he didn't like the manners Puan had instilled in me. I wasn't allowed on the furniture. I wasn't to eat in the kitchen. I spent nights leashed to a small house outside in the yard. Lienx ruled his home with an iron fist, and when I misbehaved, I was thoroughly beaten. I learned quickly to remain invisible in Lienx's home, but then Lienx married, and his new wife, Moha, didn't like mutts. Within two weeks, Lienx had procured a purebreed. I was sent to the pound.

By the heavens, the pound. Cages. Left to wallow in our own filth because those in charge didn't want to bother. The food was tasteless. Sunlight was a treat once a week when we were taken out into the yards. Run. Play. Soak up the light until we were herded back into the large, hot buildings and locked away to be forgotten. Most pets came to the pound to die, and, at twenty-four, I resigned myself to such a fate. Two masters and well into my life, I wasn't the sort of pet a lovely master came looking for. Imagine my surprise when Kica came running through the pound, eager to find her newest pet.

Kica. Nine-years-old and the sweetest little girl. I think I loved her. She would play with me out in the yard, toss balls for me to run after, and she'd bring me scraps of her own meals. Little girls, though, grow up. For her sixteenth birthday, her father gifted her with a squealing, writhing purebreed with gorgeous, clear blue eyes. I saw her love for me die as the bawling mass in her arms demanded her attention. My heart broke when her father carted me back to the pound with not even a farewell kiss from Kica.

Thirty-one-years-old and back at the pound. I hated it. There was nothing I could do about it. I was nothing but a mutt, passed around. I would die here. I knew it in my very bones. There were younger, more beautiful pets to be found in the small cages, with bright eyes and unusual hair. I was plain. Forgettable. I was also tired. I didn't want to go home with someone else who would either abuse me or earn my trust and love only to betray me when something better, more expensive came along.

If I wore a collar and leash, I wanted it to
mean
something. I wanted to be
wanted
, needed. Heavens, perhaps even cherished, loved. Loved. I thought Kica had loved me. She'd said as much so many times as she'd brushed my hair, oiled my skin. But love, it seemed, was fickle. I was expected to give mine without pause, but my masters? They were allowed to gift it and take it back without any thought to my heart. Best to die in this sweltering hellhole of a building, thirsty and hungry and craving the sunlight, than to slowly wither as I bounced from home to home.

"What's down this hall?"

I couldn't help but lift my head as the question filtered down the dingy hallway. Was someone actually looking for an older pet? Surely not. Even if they were, I refused to allow my hopes to rise. There were two dozen other pets in this hall, all over the age of twenty-five and as tired as I was, that this person could potentially choose.

"Those are the older pets. Male. Ones that have been here more than once. You don't want any of them. They'll be taken care of when they've been here six months."

I hated
that
voice. Miab. He was an asshole. He liked to use the older female pets for copulation, which was—technically—against the law. Even pets knew that. We could be beaten, starved, denied water or baths, but we weren't supposed to be used sexually. Not that we weren't, but who believed a mongrel over an upstanding citizen? Miab, though, was a sick sonovabitch. He liked to hurt the females that he fucked, and none of us trusted him. I often wished to claw his eyes out.

"I want to see them. Age doesn't matter. None of your younger pets caught my attention. Maybe I need an older one."

Miab sighed, loud and annoyed. "All right. Come on."

Footsteps. None of us looked up. None of us moved. I don't think any of us wanted to go to another home. Six months, and then we'd be destroyed. Better than this indefinite hoping, and we wouldn't be a drain on the state's resources anymore.

"How old is the oldest here?" That voice was smooth, deep, and it made something in my gut flutter. "How old is the youngest?"

"Eldest is there, Henri. Has had six homes. Likes to bite. He's forty-six." Miab walked past my cage and pointed to an end cage. "Youngest is Fredrick. He's twenty-seven. Had three homes. Last home surrendered him because he attempted to seduce their youngest daughter."

The visitor walked up and down the corridor, pausing at each cage, but I didn't hear anyone move. When his shadow fell over me, I didn't bother to look up. The shadow didn't move, though, and after a moment, the visitor spoke.

"I'd like to see this one is the playroom, please. I'd also like to read his file."

Miab scoffed. "Ewan? He's had three previous homes."

"Why was he brought here?"

"The file says..." Miab flipped through paperwork, but I still didn't look up. "He was the pet to Master Dierr's daughter, but he secured her a purebreed. Ewan was no longer needed."

The visitor was quiet for a moment. "Is he sterile?"

Miab shook his head. "Not this one. We would have done it this time, but he's thirty-one. Low on the physician's priority list. If you purchase him, we can have him sterilized for you."

"No, that won't be necessary. If he proves to be headstrong, I will have my own physician perform the surgery." The visitor's shadow gestured. "Playroom, please."

The visitor walked off and Miab opened my cage door. I didn't have to look up to know he was sneering at me with disgust. His whiskers and nose would be twitching with his ears partially back. Miab's nose always twitched when he was annoyed. I sometimes thought—if the world were different and pets held the same rights as our masters—I'd laugh at him. I valued my skin, though. I didn't want a lashing. Miab reached in and clipped a leash to my collar and gave a jerk.

"Up, Ewan. Try not to piss on Sir Jiat's feet, hmm?"

I stood up and followed Miab without a moment's hesitation. Sir? That made this potential master one of The Guard. One of The Guard wanted an old mutt? I'd been owned only by citizens. Wealthy citizens, to be sure, but they held no titles, no real power in the world. One of The Guard would surely have enough wealth to buy the best purebreed, the finest the High Breeders had to offer. Why patronize a common pound? The only thing more shocking would have been a noble appearing in the corridor.

Miab shoved me into the room, my feet catching on the step that led from the hall to the playroom. I fell forward with a cry, hands flailing out to catch myself, but strong arms caught me before I smashed into the unforgiving tile floor. I shouldn't have looked up, shouldn't have met Sir Jiat's gaze, but I did. I clung to him and stared into his beautiful honey-colored eyes. Oh, many of the Feline masters had those amber eyes, but I'd never seen one that had copper at the heart of their eyes, hugging the black pupils.

His coloring was so striking I was unable to look away. I'd never seen one of his kind with such pale fur. He was one of the Jaguars. One couldn't ever mistake their ears, their muzzles, their spots. But Sir Jiat, he was practically white! His markings were barely visible. Under my hands, the fur was soft and well-kept, almost downy. He blinked slowly, his ears twitching as he helped me stand on my feet once more, and still I couldn't look away. He stood another good foot taller than me, broader, and his tail swished slowly behind him. I would have kept staring if Miab hadn't stepped in and let his cane crack across my thighs.

The pain was high and sharp and brought tears to my eyes. I fell to my knees before Sir Jiat and bowed my head, my sinuses stinging as I fought not to weep and beg for forgiveness. I hadn't been given leave to look, let alone speak, and one blow of the cane was all I thought I could endure today. Sir Jiat's image, though, was burned into my mind. Exotic and noble and strong. I wanted to go home with him. If any pet could instantly want to serve a master, I did in that moment. I would have kissed his feet, wept for his pleasure, coupled with another pet for his enjoyment, if he took me home and named me his pet. His collar. His tag. A mongrel the honored pet of one of The Guard, owned by one of such unusual coloring...