My Life as a Beast Keeper

My show-quality service beastkin doesn't like me. He only wags his tail for my sister.

I then bring home a low-grade venting beastkin.

But he's now so upset that he's nearly in tears.

"Layla Manfred, there can only be one hound, and that's me!"

I, Layla Manfred, was drunk. I was now sitting outside the bar, smoking to sober up.

A street vendor approached me timidly and murmured, "You look stressed, miss. Do you need to blow off some steam? I've got a venting beastkin who can help you unwind."

I waved a hand to dispel the smoke. "What?"

The vendor glanced warily left and right, confirming no one was watching, before gesturing for the beastkin to approach.

This was a wolfhound beastkin. He was tall and slender, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist.

When he stood, he blocked out the bar lights, which cast a shadow over me.

Before I could react, the vendor yanked the crude collar around his neck, forcing him to his knees before removing the rusty muzzle.

The vendor yanked his hair, forcing him to look up as his face was revealed. The beastkin had pale skin, a high nose, and his thin lips were pursed tightly together. Bruises marred his brow and the corners of his mouth. His narrowed eyes were locked onto me like those of a wild beast.

The vendor smacked his face hard a few times. "Look here, miss. Doesn't his face look satisfying to hit?"

I swallowed hard, feeling a flicker of interest. He was my type. Plus, my doctor said my hormones were out of balance, and I needed a way to relieve the stress.

However, I already had a wolfhound at home. Salem Tarr would definitely have taken issue with it.

Sensing my hesitation, the vendor kicked the beastkin. "Get up and show the lady your muscles."

The beastkin rose to his feet slowly. Chains bound his body, and he could only remove his black T-shirt with one hand, instantly revealing his lean, pale muscles. However, his skin was covered in bruises and scars.

The vendor quickly reapplied the muzzle, patting the beastkin's powerful arm muscles. "Look at him, miss. He's got amazing stamina and recovery abilities. You can vent for two hours for a mere 2000 dollars. As long as you don't slit his throat and bleed him out, he'll recover."

I was shocked. "Slit his throat and bleed him?"

Were people really this twisted these days? How terrifying.

Forget it. The one I had back home didn't let me touch him anyway. Since this one was cheap, I could very well just buy an obedient one.

I stood up in a daze, slurring slightly as I asked, "How much if I buy him?"

"Ha! It won't be cheap." The vendor rubbed his hands. "He's the best we've got around here."

"Name your price."

"A lucky sum, then. 5888 dollars."

I was stunned.

My own service wolfhound, Salem, cost my parents a few million. This one was surprisingly cheap.

"Too pricey?" asked the vendor.

"Round it down then. 5800 dollars," I replied.

In the end, I paid 5800 dollars for Clayton Yarrow.

…

I didn't feel like going home, so I brought him to stay at a hotel.

Before leaving, the vendor gave me countless instructions. Under no circumstances was I to remove his muzzle before he was fully trained, and it was best not to remove his leash either.

In the hotel suite, Clayton stood motionless at the entrance, his eyes downcast. He was like a silent statue awaiting his destiny.

After my shower, I wrapped myself in a towel, not daring to remove his shackles. "You should shower too."

He stared at me for a few seconds before walking into the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the air.

A few minutes later, I knocked on the door. "I left my phone inside."

Clayton hadn't locked the door, so it just opened.

Clayton froze, his back to me. His tall, imposing figure was completely naked. His skin was pale, making his wounds look even more gruesome.

Water flowed over the rusty chains, black grime mixing with bloodstains from his forearms, trickling down his back and abdomen. The water slid down his calves and trickled into the drain.

His tail drooped, trembling slightly.

Unlike Salem's hair, which was smooth and shiny, Clayton's was dry and dull. It looked both fragile and wild.

Immediately, I was overcome by desire.

I moved closer and embraced him from behind, gently kissing the bruises on his back.

Clayton shuddered and stiffened. "What are you doing?"