The rhythmic sound of a knife chopping through vegetables carried through the kitchen as a lone figure worked tirelessly at her cutting board. She lost herself in her work, while she tried to ignore the crippling sense of doubt that stole through her body.

How long had it been? Far longer than the single day that he promised, and yet there was no word of him.

Sonja refused to look away from the vegetables that she chopped in a quick mechanical manner. Inside her head, however, her thoughts whirled and raced. Was he lying hurt somewhere? Was he dead? Did he simply abandon her and go elsewhere?

Dreamers were notorious for their sudden permanent disappearances. Whatever reason they had for entering this world, once that reason was met they rarely returned.

Her face an ice cold mask of food preparatory confidence, she would allow no one to know of the complicated emotions hiding beneath her cool exterior. The fact that she did not know the truth of the matter was the worst part of it all.

A slight tremor ran along her face. It started from her perfect pink lips then traveled along her cheek to make her left eye twinge slightly. He better not come back! If he came in to the Inn right now she would stab him for breaking his promise. What could one expect from a human, anyway?

As time went on, Sonja's vegetable cutting became slightly aberrant. She chopped with greater ferocity and zeal. Special joy was taken whenever she had to cut apart a cucumber.

"Bastard," she said quietly, her icy emotional mask still in place. "I'll kill you..."

A slight quiver came to her lips, but she fought it off with a huff. She refused to feel anything for someone who could not keep a promise. Live or dead, a promise was a promise!

Violent thoughts entered her mind. First, she would cut off his arms and legs, then split open his rib cage. Once the internal organs were removed she would hang the meat to let the blood drain.

"Shall I make some fresh pulled pork for tomorrow's special?" she grumbled loudly.

"I could use some of that," said a soft masculine voice.

Sonja's hand froze mid-motion. Her knife trembled slightly for some reason, though clearly her hand itself was not trembling. It was nothing more than a trick of the light or foolish eyes that would cause someone to think such a thing.

She took a deep breath then allowed it to slowly escape her lips. Her facial expression cold, and her anger a thing of frozen beauty she turned in preparation for the coming of tomorrow's pulled pork special. However, after she did turn and see him her eyes widened.

Blackthorne wore strange clothing with no sign of his armor, or weapons. On his back he sported a strange backpack, but most notably of all his visible flesh was a mass of hideous bruises and deep gashes.

"What...?" asked Sonja, her knife nearly slipping from her hand.

He offered her a soft smile through his cracked lips then said, "Sorry I took so long."

"I..." She did not know what to say at the moment. His appearance was so bizarre. "Your eyes are red..."

"Are they?" asked Blackthorne with a sigh. "Some things have happened. At any rate, if you still want it I'll finish paying off your debt now..."

She gripped her knife tightly for a moment, a desire to stab him rising quickly within her. "Where have you been, you idiot!"

His eyes softened. The intense red glow faded somewhat and her shook his head. "That is a long story, and not one I plan to share publicly. If you want me to keep my promise, I can tell you afterward."

"It's been nearly five days..." she said in an accusing tone.

"That long? Really?" he asked quietly. Blackthorne shook his head. "I'm lucky to be here at all, to be honest."

Every inch of her body screamed at her to demand answers, but the way he spoke made it seem that he would not give them unless they completed their contract. "If you want to keep your promise, I am certainly ready. Though, I owe my current owner enough to finish my shift."

Blackthorne nodded then told her that he would go finalize things with Scraggles. "See you soon, Sonja. I have a lot to tell you about."

"Yes. Of course," she said in flat tone of voice. Sonja turned away from him as though she wished to end the conversation. Her face maintained its emotionless nature.

"I missed you, too," he said softly before he turned away.

Sonja did not stop her work, and for a time her expressionless mask held up. After a short few seconds, however, her lips began to quiver. Slowly, a soft smile appeared alongside a slight sparkle in her eyes. Pork might be on the menu for the morrow, but it would not be at the Screaming Onion Tavern.

By the time her work shift ended, Blackthorne's injuries were completely healed. He no longer looked like someone had chosen to drag him behind a galloping horse across the country.

Scraggles look to Sonja then to Blackthorne. "The money has been paid, but we need to transfer ownership. Are you both ready?"

They looked to each other then nodded to Scraggles. He bid Sonja to climb up on the counter. Her customary lack of clothing, save for an apron, proved helpful to the cause when Scraggles pricked his finger with a needle then allowed a drop of his blood to drip down onto her lower back.

"Reveal the contract," he said in an authoritative tone.

A series of arcing lines appeared on her lower back, just above her ass. In a position some might call a tramp stamp, a sigil designed like brambles made of lightning arose from her tailbone. It rounded the curvature of her ass and spread out like wings.

"I, the master of this servant, hereby relinquish my claim to the one who shall claim her," said Scraggles. He looked to Blackthorne then handed him the needle. "Drip a little blood on her back."

Blackthorne tried to prick his finger then sighed when the needle bent. Scraggles looked at him for a moment then snorted. "It'll cost another few hundred Jerin, but I have a needle that causes bleeding status as a rule..."

"Fine. Thank you," said Blackthorne.

Scraggles went to his nearby desk and pulled out the biggest needle Blackthorne had ever seen. "Are you sure that's not a railroad spike."

"Railroad?" asked Scraggles. "No, this is Piercer. It's a needle I used to use when I fought high defense opponents. Give me a moment to remove the poison status."

"Poison?" asked Blackthorne dubiously.

"That's why I have to charge you. That poison isn't free, you know." Scraggles cleaned his needle thoroughly then looked to Blackthorne. Ready?

"Yes. Sorry," he replied. Blackthorne held out his hand and Scraggles jabbed the tip of his finger. A few drops of blood spattered down atop Sonja's lower back and the sigil began to glow brightly.

You have claimed a slave!

Would you like to forsake your current professional title [Dark Lord: Gentleman of Darkness] and acquire the new professional title [Slave Master]

[Yes | No]

Blackthorne did not hesitate. He most certainly did not want to switch out his professional title!

"So, is that it?" he asked Scraggles.

"Yes, the ceremony is complete. Jackie belongs to you," said the tavern owner. "Treat her well now."

"I'll do my best," said Blackthorne.

Sonja grunted. "Don't I get a say in the matter?"

"Why would you?" asked Scraggles lightly.

Sonja glared at him then muttered something about pork cutlets and pulled pork sandwiches. She followed it up with a chopping motion, though she did not have her knife.

The men shared a chuckle as Sonja sat up. It was an awkward sort of situation, but it bore itself out well.

After a short congratulatory bullshitting session, Blackthorne and Sonja retired to his room. There were many things to discuss.

Once inside with the door locked, they moved over to the bed and sat down. An awkward silence ensued as neither said anything. After a while, Sonja bit her lip a little then reached back to untie her apron.

Blackthorne placed his hand to her shoulder and softly shook his head. "That was never my reason."

"I know," she said softly. Sonja clasped her hands together and looked down at them. "You said you would explain what happened to you?"

A loud sigh was his initial response, but soon he nodded his head. "I don't want to use my power as your master to prevent you from speaking on this matter. I want to be able to trust you."

Blackthorne looked toward her and she turned her head to look at him in turn. Their eyes locked to each other, he continued. "I know your word is good. Do I have it? Will you keep what I tell you a secret?"

"Of course, master," said Sonja.

He shook his head. "No, not as your master. As my friend, I guess."

"Your friend, huh?" she asked him, a complicated emotion leaking into her voice. "Is that what we are?"

"I have no doubt that we are that at least," said Blackthorne without a hint of humor in his tone.

Despite her best efforts, a slight hint of color arose in her cheeks. "Fine. Yes. I will keep your pathetic human secret."

Blackthorne snickered briefly, then unleashed a deep bellowing laugh. Sonja stared at him incredulously. "Fool. What ails you?"

Her ye olde commentary only made the situation more hilarious for him. Blackthorne laughed harder. Sonja's speech patterns were always strange. Most of the time she spoke as a normal person, but on occasion she slipped back into an old timey speech pattern such as now. It mostly happened when she was angry, or attempted to train him and thus annoyed her with his weakness.

"If you wish to mock me..." she said, her hand curling into a fist. An electrical current skittered along her spine, and pain blossomed lightly within her body. Sonja gasped softly as her slave sigil reminded her of her place. A slave did not threaten her master.

"Sorry," said Blackthorne between ridiculous tittering noises. "It's just that pathetic human crack that I couldn't help but laugh about."

"What of it...?" she asked curiously.

He shook his head briefly and held up his hand while he caught his breath. Once he was able to speak again, he said, "Well. While I was gone, one thing lead to another and now I am no longer human. Physically, at least."

Sonja blinked slowly then tilted her head to the side. "Well, the red eyes were new, but you seem pretty human. Beefier, I guess, but human..."

"Yes, well if that was all it took you'd be human," said Blackthorne.

She offered him a disgusted look. Sonja did not deny it, however.

"I guess the best way to do this is to show you. You can make your decision afterwards, regarding whether you still want to be around me," said Blackthorne.

"Yes... Show me..." Sonja gazed imperiously at him. Whatever he showed her had best be worth the slight that she felt that he had given her. Slave or not, a girl had her pride!

"Alright, but try not to scream or something. I'm going to look a little different..." he said. Blackthorne moved to the opposite side of the bed then grew tense.

His expression become one on intense concentration and struggle. Briefly, Sonja considered that he might be in the throes of horrific constipation.

Blackthorne growled loudly as his body began to expand. Soon, his skin split apart eliciting a gasp of surprise from Sonja. Black mist rose up briefly, while the shredded corpse of the former human shell faded away.

Sonja hopped to her feet her hands gripping a non-existent knife. However, when the mist congealed into a tiny reptilian form the tension left her body.

Blackthorne looked up at her, an approximation of a sheepish grin spread across his reptilian features. "So, well... I'm sort of a—"

Sonja interjected the word, "Dragon," before he could finish. Her body remained completely still while her eyes stared at him in a piercing manner.

"Uh, Sonja..." began Blackthorne. There were obviously better ways to tell her, but he figured it would be better to do it quick like ripping off a band aid.

"Look I know this is kind of odd, but I'm still me," said Blackthorne nervously.

Her eyes widened and a joyous expression broke free of her icy mask. A magnificent sparkle in her eyes soon arose followed by a girlish squeal of delight. "Dragon!" she cried excitedly, before she threw her body into the air and tackled the tiny midnight terror.

"The hell? Unhand me woman!" shrieked Blackthorne comically as Sonja drew him close and began to cuddle him with far too much force for his own good. Pain blossomed throughout Sonja's body from the slave sigil, and continued to increase in intensity, but she didn't care in that moment.

"Dragon! Dragon!" she cried excitedly while using her ridiculous strength to actually stress his ridiculous strength and defense via intense cuddling. A lesser man would resemble a fine pudding at this point.

"Dammit all!" snarled Blackthorne. He struggled mightily. His draconic strength forced her to roll over, and over yet again. They fell off the bed with a loud crash, but she refused to relent. Never once did she relax her overly excited death-cuddle.

Sonja giggled and nuzzled her cheek against his as soft happy tears trickled down her cheeks. "Dragon! It's a dragon!"

A howl of despair echoed from his reptilian lips to match her next excited girlish squeal. This injustice could not stand. The battle of a lifetime began in that moment.