A/N: I should just say now that Tawni's being my awesome co-writer for everything in Deacon's POV so I don't have to keep repeating myself. Again - not sure where the story is going since it took a turn I didn't expect so it's gonna be an adventure to write from here out.

Enjoy!

Curling his hands into fists, Deacon stormed back into his bedroom. "Stupid fucking baby." He mused to himself as he tried to pinpoint why Scud's crying actually had any effect on him at all. He shouldn't have stopped. Scud was just a human, after all. What did it matter? Why did he care? The thought alone made him even more angry as he flung a small innocent table across the room and into the wall.

"Fucking bullshit!" Deacon brushed a hand over his face as he drew in a breath in an attempt to calm himself. Why did he even think twice about this human when he could just have it his way? Throwing a few more things off a nearby table, Deacon paused with his hands on his hips. He thought carefully about the events that had just occurred. Scud had asked for it, it wasn't like he was doing something against the other's will, and even if he had been he was a pet. Deacon's word was rule.

He'd asked Scud a simple request; to scream like the little whore he was. He refused, and soon after started crying. Deacon wasn't sure he understood, nor sure if he wanted to. Finally, when his rage gave in, Deacon nearly tore the bathroom door off the hinges as he stormed back into the bathroom.

"What the fuck was that?" He shouted, his voice rebounding off of the ceramic tiles that lined the walls and floor. "I'm the fucking master. You do what I say, not the other way around. You wanted this life, and you're going to cry?!" There was no sense of calm, no sign of slowing down and before Deacon even knew it, he was swinging an open hand at Scud's face.

The collision made a loud crack and sent water splashing out of the bathtub. If Deacon hadn't been a vampire, he was sure it would have actually hurt his own hand. Reaching down, Deacon wrapped a hand around Scud's throat and lifted him from the water to stare him in the face.

"What. The. Fuck. Was. That." He repeated. Icy cold eyes stared into the soft blue ones that belonged to his pet. He was relentless, full of hatred and ever so unforgiving. There was absolutely no sign of stopping now until the vampire got answers. The rage had consumed him, and he wasn't about to give it up.

In the back of his mind, somewhere in the past and buried in the memories he'd rather forget, Deacon could remember something similar happening to him. His father would come home late, very late. If Deacon was still in the bath, or even awake, he'd get the full wrath of his father. Deacon always tried to stay clear of him, or at least pretend to be asleep when he got back. But the times he returned were not consistent, and Deacon had been caught off guard more times than he would like to count.

Jutting his jaw out, Deacon's scowl only deepened as he stared at Scud. He lowered him slowly back into the water, and loosened his grip only after he realized the other couldn't really speak with a crushed throat. "I'm going to ask you one more time. If you don't tell me, I'm going to break every bone in your body twice, and then leave you to die. Do I make myself clear?" Any signs of compassion he'd once shown were now completely absent, leaving the shell of a killing machine in their place.

xxxxx

If anyone could win an award for scaring someone half to death, it would be Deacon. Scud realized this the second the door hit the ground. He flinched, ducking down some and listened to the vampire shout and yell. He should have expected this. He should have known that Deacon was angry. Maybe that calm before was just one of those calms before a storm. Scud shuddered and that's when he was slapped. And it was nowhere near gentle.

His neck whipping to the side from it was painful enough; the contact even worse.

But then he felt his air being cut off. And he was being lifted out of the bathtub. Panic set in and Scud squirmed, trying to get Deacon to put him down with no avail. Scud opened his mouth, tried to speak, but nothing more than a raspy sound came out. Answering his question wasn't really something he wanted to do in the first place, but if it got him to calm down? He'd do it. Scud would do anything to get the vampire's rage under control.

Feet kicked, splashing and making a mess of the water. He was starting to feel woozy from the lack of air, and the feeling was almost blissful. If he just gave up and kept struggling, Deacon would kill him. Then there'd be no more dealing with being a pet or familiar or anything. He'd just be a lifeless body.

Then again, Scud didn't want to be dead. Not at the age of twenty five and definitely not after all the shit he went through in his life. He still thought he deserved something nice before he kicked the bucket. He tried sucking in a breath when Deacon was putting him down and loosening his grip. Immediately, Scud sucked in all the air his lungs would allowed before he started coughing. If Deacon didn't still have a hand around his throat, he would have doubled over the side of the tub.

"You scared the shit out of me," Scud admitted quietly in a raspy tone. He was still trying to remember the breathing process again – inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. "And you were hurting me. And you reminded me of…" He trailed off, no sure how to explain the small comparison that the vampire in front of him would no doubt take offense to. "Before you saved me, my last master used to always do things like that." He shut his eyes, trying not to think about it. "That's why I have all these scars…"

There were a few more, too - scars that Deacon may not have noticed. Like the one behind his left knee from where one of the vampires thought it was fun to kick him. Or the small one in the middle of his back in the shape of two scratch marks from a too rough encounter with his previous master. Others had faded, but Scud still knew they were there. He could still seem them, he believed, if he looked long enough at the spot.

Pleading wouldn't do much good, he knew this; but that didn't stop Scud from opening his eyes and watching Deacon quietly with a questioning expression. "Deacon?" He hadn't even noticed that his current master went silent, that most emotion seemed to be void from his face. The hands that had been holding onto Deacon's wrist loosened; thumb shifting to carefully rub against Deacon's palm. Maybe he was just processing. Scud decided that had to be it. Because when he thought he didn't know beyond that reasoning, he felt scared of the vampire all over again.

xxxxx

Deacon's eyes remained narrow and full of some past hatred as he listened. "That's part of being a fucking pet. You chose this. You vowed your loyalty. Get over it." He spat, reaching down and grabbing the familiar by the shoulder and yanking him out of the bath. Deacon didn't need this bullshit, not from Scud. Not from his own property. And right now, he was too angry to process anything else. Maybe it was a hint of guilt, maybe it was the overwhelming nostalgia that triggered memories he'd rather forget. Either way, Deacon was now dragging Scud from the water and out of the bathroom.

In Deacon's eyes, being a pet was just that. A simple job where you only did what your master told you to do. There was no 'hard' anything about it. You obeyed, you got fed, you got protected. Sometimes you'd be rewarded, but there wasn't more. There was never more. No pets got treated like gold, they were disposable. When the time came, they would gladly give their lives for the vampires as long as the vampires got out safe. And that was how Deacon would always see it.

Shoving Scud into an empty bedroom, Deacon shut the door quickly and left him to be, but not before speaking through the heavy door. "You'll stay in here until you learn how to behave. When I speak, you listen. Don't talk unless spoken to, or I'll fucking kill you. No dinner tonight. And if I hear one fucking sound, I'll tear you apart." He threatened as he stormed away from the door and towards his office to make a call. He needed to do something to get his mind off of things, and usually work did that for him.