Free The Hunter's Pet by Loki Renard Page A

Sarah’s heart beat faster at the scent alone.
    The crate was pushed into a corner and left. She was cold. She was hungry. She felt the little pangs of needing to toilet, but there was no toilet in the little crate.
    “Let me out!”
    “Hold your tongue, or you’ll get another dose of jolts!” The little man had a nasty, nasal voice that carried serious threat—and moreover, anticipation. He clearly enjoyed his job, every mean, painful part of it.
    Sarah tried every panel and place in the crate, but although it was filthy, it was just as secure as William’s had been. There would be no escape until the man let her out, at which point it was likely things would get worse. Much worse.
    She took refuge in silence and fear, deeply regretting ever having left the comfort and security of William’s home. She had been a fool to take his kindness for granted. Clearly these citizens thought nothing of using violence when it suited them. William’s spankings barely registered on the scale when compared to the vicious device the catcher had unleashed on her.
    A hatch in the top of the crate opened and a hand shoved its way in, grasping her by the back of the neck. Sarah shouted in panic as a cold metal device was pressed to the back of her neck. It made beeping sounds, but did not cause any pain aside from the unpleasantly rough gloved grip painfully pinching at her nape.
    “Tch!” A frustrated sound was made, and the hand withdrew. “Not marked. Not chipped. If your owner doesn’t claim you in twenty-four hours it won’t go well for you.”
    Sarah could not imagine spending another hour in the crate, let alone twenty-four of them. A whimper escaped her lips and was swiftly punished when the catcher slammed his hand against the crate’s side, half deafening her with the reverberations.
    He left her with the echoes of the blow, in the cramped cold from which there could be no reprieve. The crate was not large enough to do anything but sit in. She could stretch her legs out in front of her, but she could not stand.
    If this was to be her last sight of the world, it would be a sorry one. The scent of death was in the air. She was certain that others had lost their lives down there, she sensed it strongly. It frightened her so deeply she could barely breathe.
    Minutes passed by into hours and she started to doze off, not because she was tired but because she was thoroughly exhausted. Fear had faded into despair.
    What seemed like an eternity later, heavy footsteps rang out close by, jolting her into awareness. Suddenly, the grated door was flung open. She smelled William before she saw him; his scent alone propelled her from the crate into his arms. She threw herself at him, tears coursing down her face as she gripped him like a spider monkey, wrapping her arms and legs around his body and refusing to let go.
    “I guess that says she’s yours,” a voice spoke. It was the voice of the catcher, the man who had shocked her for no reason at all. It evoked a rage that sent her from William’s arms to the catcher’s throat, her canines bared like a beast as she did her very best to bite the cruel citizen.
    “Sarah!” Her name cracked through the air. “Here. Now.”
    She ceased her attack, pleased to note that the catcher looked suitably frightened. As well he should. If William had not stopped her, she would surely have drawn blood, for the coward deserved at least that and likely a whole lot more.
    She retreated to William’s side, standing just behind him, a low growl emanating from her throat. A sharp slap from William’s palm made her cease, but she still glowered at the citizen, who was looking at her as if she were a particularly nasty form of dirt.
    “She’s not registered,” the catcher said. “She should have been marked and chipped for identification purposes already. You were informed of that when you applied for your license.”
    “She needs more taming before she will be ready to receive my