"But you have all the traits of a slave," he said, smiling a little, pacing a little.  She was right, there were no witches around.  They had already done the hard part.  If Geraint couldn't keep her locked down, well, there was a pack of werewolves in the vicinity, all of whom would be eager to kill Vara.  "Well, that's not totally correct, is it?  You don't have the traits of a slave.  Slaves usually admit it.  You've got all the traits of a<i>dog</i>.  Sure, your master beats the shit out of you, but you still shove your wet nose up his asshole, and you love your status as his<i>pet</i>.  Like you said, he likes 'em loyal and quiet.  Obedient."<br/><br/>He went behind her, came back with a tin cup full of water.  He held it to her lips so she could drink.  "Why should I or you care how humans are treated?  After what they did?  They were a mistake.  They don't even taste good.  But protecting what's yours is a complex thing, isn't it?  Maybe he thought you'd succeed in your mission.  It might be worth it to him to sacrifice a valuable piece of property to kill a coven leader.  What he'd give up would be worth what he got."<br/><br/>He went behind her and he opened something because a harsh, chemical smell filled the room.  It was a smell sometimes found in old machines but much stronger, much richer, more potent.  "Yeah, Valvoline.  They were looking for this."  He came around to Vara's side, again, having a glass jar with a thin, slightly yellowish fluid in it.  Up close, it was eye-watereringly powerful.  "Stuff like this, in some kind of round, metal building.  They were looking by some of the worst zones, places where the atomic spirits are strongest.  They were also being sacrificed.  Humans, well trained, but after going where those spirits were, no human recovers.  They died shitting their guts out, muscle spasms so strong their tendons snapped, meat pulling away from bone.  A terrible way to die."