Power (Dark Anomaly #2) - Marina Simcoe Page 0,17

needed to do something about the gallon of alien poop on the floor.

Using my hands and teeth, I managed to rip off two long, voluminous sleeves of a velvet dress, then to tear one of them in half. I tied one long strip over my nose and mouth, using it as a face mask.

“Gaaawd, this is so, so gross.” I crouched by the pile of Lesh’s waste as he kept staring at me, not moving a muscle. Despite his lying position, he appeared tense, like he was ready to pounce on me if I made a wrong movement. I knew his chain was long enough for him to reach me. After all, it’d been long enough for him to take a dump in this very location.

At this point, however, the risk of a vicious animal attack seemed irrelevant when faced with the dire need to breathe some fresh air.

Holding my breath, I quickly scooped the mess with the pieces of fabric then tossed it into the toilet. I had to do several trips, scooping and tossing, before most of it was gone. Then, I filled the empty soap dish with the water from the bathroom faucet and scrubbed the floor the best I could.

I rinsed out and dumped the dirty pieces of fabric into the waste basket in the bathroom, then washed my hands thoroughly and shut the door.

The place still smelled awful, but at least the sharp edge of the stench was now gone.

“I’m going to kill your master with my bare hands,” I vowed to Lesh afterwards. “Even if it’ll be the last thing I ever do.”

“DID YOU HAVE A GOOD night?” Wyck’s voice woke me up. There was an uncharacteristically warm note in his tone.

I lifted my head off the pallet and opened my eyes. Wyck wasn’t talking to me, which explained the affection in his voice.

Lesh’s front paws planted onto Wyck’s chest, the heads of the scaly monster fought over the patting that Wyck was generously shelling out to them. Having not enough hands to pat all three at the same time, Wyck did his best to give an equal amount of attention to the flat heads of his pet.

“How did it go, my friend?” he cooed, scratching the side of the right head’s neck. The animal literally smiled in response, baring his teeth, his three tongues dangling out. His heads leaned toward Wyck’s hand, the snake-like tail wound around one of Wyck’s short boots. “Did she give you any trouble?”

I huffed, dropping my head back to the sleeping pallet.

“I gave him trouble?” I asked curtly, my voice hoarse from the lack of sleep. “He took a huge dump in here! What on earth do you feed him, it reeked like decomposing flesh.”

“It still does.” He wrinkled his nose.

Whatever air filtration system they had in this room had done its job, in my opinion. I couldn’t smell anything anymore. I’d heard that errocks’ sense of smell was superior to that of humans, though. Also, I might’ve gotten used to the smell and no longer noticed it even if it lingered.

Whatever the case, the disgusted expression on Wyck’s face irritated me. It wasn’t my fault the air in the room was not entirely to his satisfaction.

“You know what...” I got up and stomped to the bathroom.

A nauseating wave of stench assaulted my nostrils the moment I opened the door. The soiled rags in the waste basket had done a great job at overpowering any efforts of the air filtration system.

Pressing my nose into my shoulder, I grabbed the basket then went back to Wyck.

“Here” I shoved it into his chest as he stumbled back, astonishment mixed with deep repulsion on his face. “Get rid of this, will you? Make yourself useful instead of just complaining.”

He stared at the offensive basket, his full, shapely lips curved in disgust.

“Take it!” I urged.

He shoved at the door behind him, sliding it open, then tossed the basket out into the corridor and closed the door quickly.

“Now, get out.” I heaved a long breath. “And take your pet monster with you. I need to get some sleep if I still can.”

Wyck glanced down at Lesh who stood at his side, keeping an eye on me. I was well inside the reach of his chain, I realized. He didn’t attack me, and I felt too tired to care if he still could.

“Lesh stays here.” From the hip pocket of his pants, Wyck produced a long meaty bone wrapped in a piece of plastic.

“No,

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