Rick was dragged into what must have been the largest cell room in existence. No less than ten meters across and just as much wide, it was carved out of rock and bare of much anything else, like a hole in the ground they’d opted to put a door onto. There were only two sources of light in the room, one next to the open door, the other in the opposite side of the open area.

The cell had exactly three occupants beside himself and the Orc woman that had dragged him there.

At the side near the door, seated on a chair, was the only other male in the room. A man that would’ve been taller than Rick had he been standing. Currently his face was twisted into a wicked snarl and a hateful glare. A trickle of blood was running down the corner of his lip, and if Rick strained his ear, he was sure he’d hear him wheeze with every painful gasp of air.

Next to him was a woman; the lack of a collar told Rick she was human. Black hair was tied neatly into a bun, and she wore a set of leather pants and what looked like a piece of leather armor atop her chest. Her eyes were lingering on the man, a hint of pain lingered on her features.

But Rick stopped paying attention the instant he’d seen the third occupant.

Kneeling at the center of the prison, the white-haired woman with cat ears was looking at him through blue-green eyes. “Rick,” she spoke with a raspy cough and a half-lopped smile.

The joy of seeing her was dwarfed by everything else. She was kneeling, her legs bound by iron shackles to the floor so tightly it would be impossible for her to stand up. Her left arm was chained and held from the ceiling, making it impossible for her to sit or rest. Her right hand was free, hanging limply at her side. The shackle that had clearly once held her arm dangled from the ceiling, the chain broken.

“Monica.” He gulped, seeing her half-swollen face and purple eye, the hairline cuts that littered her body, blood painting the snowy fur of her legs and arms, dark stains and dried sweat staining her skin. She was covered in bruises, black and blue, and the way she winced when tugging on the chains told Rick a story that no amount of words could have.

He tried to move closer. The meaty green arm holding him tightened. “I brought him.”

“We finally… meet.” The man in the chair coughed, groaning. Despite the obvious pain, he held a glare towards the young teacher that would not waver. There was fire inside those dark eyes.

“You shouldn’t talk,” the woman next to him shushed, hand carefully resting on his leg.

He slapped her hand away. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve wanted to…” A deep wheezing breath. “… see you.”

“Looked a lot more like you were hiding,” Rick growled, anger boiling inside, and he returned the glare just as intensely. The hand gripping him tightened, and he winced as he was yanked down to the floor, forced down to his knees.

“Rick!” Monica’s cry came with her struggling against the rattling chains.

“I’ve been… busy,” the Baron sneered.

“Beating up captive women? Very brave of you.” Rick’s words were rewarded by the one holding him down shoving him face first into the floor with her free hand.

“Watch your tongue,” the green woman growled. “Or the next words you speak will be your last. You don’t need your tongue to stay alive.”

A growl pierced the air, and the room felt a whole degree colder. Monica’s fangs were bared, eyes glowing as she leveled her fury at the Orc. The metal holding her groaned in complaint.

For a split second, no one moved.

The Baroness was the one who took the initiative. “As you can see, she’s a feralborn maiden, a monster.” Behind her, the Baron was pale and wheezing, trying to catch his breath.

“Only monsters I see here are the ones without chains.”

The woman laughed. “Does that include you?” She waved the words away. “No, doesn’t matter. The only one in this room with a human body count in the dozens is White Claw.” She glanced at Monica. “For that crime alone she’d deserve immediate execution.”

“HA!” Rick let out a bark of laughter against the floor, the taste in his lips was bitter, but he couldn’t help himself. “According to your own laws, whoever catches a feral that has murdered humans is owed recompense. The feral’s crimes are absolved upon becoming property.” His words gave the Baroness pause, the barest hint of surprise on her features, and he snorted. “You think I dragged myself through a feral frenzy because it was fun? I would’ve done this the ‘proper’ way if I had a chance. I fucking did your stupid paperwork, passed your trumped up psychic evaluation. And I have two eyewitnesses ready to testify to confirm Monica is bonded to me.” His arms shook, becoming tense. “I wanted to do this shit the nice, peaceful, legal way. Now?” The man spat, growling. “Now maybe I’ll add assault charges. I’m sure the Earl will love to hear about it from the lips of a pure-blooded human.”

He looked over his shoulder at the Orc.

And for a second, she hesitated, grip loosening ever so slightly as her jaw slackened.

The Baroness regarded him coldly, for a moment she paused, then nodded. “Let him go.”

The grip loosened instantly, and Rick did not waste a single second to stand up and rush to Monica. No one stopped him either. “Monica.” His arms wrapped around her head, pulling her close against his chest. The woman reacted instantly, her free arm moving to pull him closer, hugging him back tightly.

A withering sigh escaped Monica’s lips, and he felt his chest tighten in pain at the sight of her being left in this state.

“Rick,” she sighed. The single word came with something loosening within her, like a house of cards that was collapsing. “Rick.” The word came out with the slightest shudder, and she rubbed her cheek against his gut, her whole body trembling. “Rick.”

His hand gently stroked her hair. “It’s alright.”

“Astounding.” The sound of claps followed, drawing Rick’s attention back to the Baroness, the woman ignoring the man behind her as he wheezed and struggled for air, glaring and desperately trying to speak. “You really are bonded. Even without the collar.”

“I’m leaving, with Monica,” he said without missing a second.

The woman crossed her arms, quirking a brow. “And are you sure that’s the best idea?” The question was rhetorical, and Rick was not about to attempt answering. The Baroness continued. “Let us assume we consider she was yours since before you were rescued from the forest. Which, by the way, would be dependent on your status as a citizen.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Your property just attacked my husband, the punishment for hurting nobility in such a way is execution.”

Rick’s brows narrowed. “She was defending herself.”

The woman shrugged her shoulders. “From a human? Who would believe that? Especially when the human is an upstanding noble.”

His jaw tightened. “What do you want?”

“White Claw.”

His arms tightened around her. “I’m not giving her to anyone.”

“Nor should you, she’s quite the catch.” The woman smirked. “But if we can’t keep her directly, then we can have the next best thing: the pure-blooded human that subjugated White Claw with nothing but his wits.” Her lips parted in a smile that almost looked genuine. Almost. “You keep the Tigress, we don’t press charges, you work for us, and we get to parade you around as the local hero that saved us from the menace. We let you go after a year or two.”

“NO!”

The Baron had been listening, wheezing for air and coughing blood, his pale complexion had become increasingly red, his glare ever hotter. The man shook with rage as he sputtered and stumbled to his feet, hand grasping at the Baroness’ shoulder and shoving her aside.

She fell over, caught off balance, and the Baron himself groaned and collapsed, vomiting blood. “No,” he wheezed. “No.” He raised his face, wiping the blood from his lip and slowly fighting to stand back up, eyes fixated on Rick.

The Orc rushed to his side, lending him an arm for him to support himself on. Concern and anger flashed through the green maiden’s face but she did not move from her spot.

“No,” the Baron said more firmly now, ignoring the bewildered look of his wife. “She’s mine.” A shaky finger pointed at Rick. “White Claw is… mine.”

There were a string of words Rick would’ve wanted to speak out loud, but he held his tongue. His arms wrapped more tightly around Monica’s face as he kept her leaned against his stomach. His eyes quietly moved towards the Baroness, watching her stand up and level a complicated look at the man that had just knocked her over. He knew that look, of someone who also had many things to say but that intended to save them for when there were no others to hear them. The look of hidden scorn and disappointment.

Slowly, carefully, Rick reigned his feelings in and made a show of sighing. What a grand mess this was. He was with Monica, but how to get out? He couldn’t rush out, there were too many things between here and the exit. And what would he do then? No, he’d rushed here, but he couldn’t go at this brashly.

“Did you not…” the Baron wheezed for breath, stepping closer. “… hear me?”

“I heard you just fine.” The chemistry teacher replied, never stopping the slow petting of Monica’s head, paying close attention to her slowed breathing, her gentle purr, the sigh of relief. “I just don’t care.”

Whatever the Baron was about to say next, it devolved into another coughing fit. Blood splattered the floor, and even with the Orc assisting him, he fell to his knees. The wheezing was getting worse, each breath had a gurgle to it. If Rick were a betting man, he’d put his money on a punctured lung from getting slapped around by Monica.

Rick’s gaze turned from the Baron to his wife. She didn’t speak, turning from his gaze and focusing on the Baron. There was something in her eyes that felt sharp and cold. It was a look he could recognize anywhere.

Could he further shove a wedge?

“He’s holding you back, and you know it.”

The woman’s head snapped to look at him, wide eyed, mouth opening in surprise, her hand reached out to touch the bracelet on her left wrist.

Still coughing, the Baron reached into his pocket and pulled out something Rick only dimly recognized, it took his mind a second to connect the dots. A sphere half white and half red, a device that almost looked like a toy. The man aimed it towards Monica. A flash of red burst out in her direction, and her body began to glow.

“NO!”

Monica tensed abruptly. “RICK!”

The feline’s arm gripped his hip, and he tried to obstruct the light. But it was so fast he’d barely had the chance to think it through. By the time he’d moved, Monica’s body was gone, and he stumbled forward, through the spot she’d occupied a second ago. The red mist she’d turned into sucked into the spherical device and gone entirely.

The chains that had been holding her left arm rattled, swinging from the ceiling now that they were free. With a bloodied smirk, and wiping the blood from his lips, the Baron held the sphere with a white knuckled grip, using his free arm to hold himself against the Orc’s larger frame.

Rick felt his hackles rise, anger boiled inside of him.

He didn’t think, he lunged, arms reaching out towards the accursed device.

The Orc struck with her free arm, a backhand that caught Rick squarely in the shoulder. It wasn’t even a serious attempt from her, more like an offhanded tap, and it had been enough to send him tumbling as his whole body had been shoved sideways. Something felt painfully hurt in the process.

“SIR!”

Rick grunted, moving to stand up, stopping as his eyes focused on the pair of small leather shoes in front of him.

Slowly raising his gaze, he blinked, looking upon the owner.

“Dia?”