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