“Are you sure? I could easily place her elsewhere in the territory. One quick call to Ke’ain, His Grace the King of Sontafrul 6, and I’m sure she could be on her way to the Earth Two dormitories at the palace.”
“Don’t you f’teeing dare call my cousin,” I seethe.
Gra’eth, Hand of the King and also his best friend, and his human mate Jessy would crucify me for what I’m doing to Marta right now. They would take her away in a heartbeat. The thought of her leaving the reef’s estate…no, just her leaving my bedroom, makes me ill with rage.
Mine. Mine. Mine.The bond screams.
He puts his hands up, dropping the subject.
“So, she stays…in the closet?” The butler cocks his head to the hidden door behind us. My jaw sets, a sign of my annoyance. “Okay, so she stays in the closet.”
Jens'i taps his foot.
“Can I attempt to make her more comfortable? Maybe some kindness in that regard would go a long way in convincing this person of absolutely no importance towantto stay here.”
Kindness.I can be kind, mostly in the bedroom.
“If you think it will help, I’ll allow it.” I try to say nonchalantly, rising to my feet. There is no middle between my rational mind and the mating bond. The thought of her leaving the estate makes me as physically ill as the thought of having to deal with a human for the rest of my life.
Our life, the mate bond corrects.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“And Jens’i?” The butler turns to me. “She doesn’t leave my chambers, not without my permission. She doesn’t speak to anyone but you.”
“You are entirely understood.” He turns back to the door before pausing and asking, “Your Grace, do we know the human’s name?”
"Marta," I say, letting the syllables linger in the air like a melody. “Her name is Marta.”
CHAPTER9
?WHY RISK IT??
?MARTA
The door cracks open,and a beam of light floods one corner of the closet. I stand behind the door, frantically attempting to light the fabric stuffed into the bottle.
No matter how long I depress the button of the vibrator, the arc of electricity refuses to catch fire to the silky cravat. I give up entirely, dropping the former sex toy turned lighter to the ground, and prepare myself to just chuck the heavy glass bottle at the duke’s dumb gray head.
But he’s not who peeks around the corner, instead a much smaller alien does. His white hair is thin around the crown of his head, and fine lines extend from the corner of his eyes and his mouth. I assume his age is much more advanced than Raf’ere’s.
“Hello, Marta,” he says calmly.
I know he’s still an alien, and alien equals enemy, but I can’t bring myself to give an old man a head injury, regardless of the species. There’s something about him that reminds me of Pops. Maybe it’s the male-pattern baldness or the way he holds himself? I can’t quite place it. It’s probably another example of me being fucking stupid, but I’m exhausted. I don’t know how my situation could get much worse, anyway.
“You know my name.” It’s a statement, not a question.
His blue eyes scan the scene before him. A broken vibrator on the ground, a silk cravat stuffed into a bottle of liquor, and a human woman in an oversized green tee shirt somewhere on the verge of screaming or crying.
“I do. His Grace, Duke Raf’ere, asked me to come help you. To see if you needed anything.” He leans over and picks up the vibrator from the ground. “Can I ask what you’re doing?”
“I’m…I’m making a Molotov cocktail,” I whisper as he gently takes the bottle out of my hand.
His eyes get some far-off look, and I remember when my translator chip showed me the scal’pin. It must be doing the same for him now. I doubt there’s an alien translation for Molotov.
“Well, I hate to break it to you, my dear.” He pulls the cravat from the bottle and dangles it in front of me. “The fabric here is aqua-phobic, it doesn’t absorb liquids. The same properties that allow it to be resistant to wetness also allow it to be flame retardant. So, asindustriousas your plan was, I think it was always doomed to fail.”
Doomed to fail.That’s how I feel right now.
