I glare at her, and she weakens her resolve. “Then go and fetch her from her bath, now, and don’t waste my time again tomorrow or I shall punish you as much as I punish her.”
“Yes, Kapsuk.” She scurries away. I’m convinced that Trasmea is afraid of me, even if I have taken her sexually and brought no harm to her. Which is good, because if there is one thing that I cannot afford at this moment, it’s that Trasmea give Anya Mann the idea that I’m weak.
I stand in front of the door and focus my thoughts on mykastu, running through the motions of the art in my mind. I must distract myself like this with much greater frequency than I desire, because this human girl draws from mykrythlike a visitor sucking my blood directly from my veins.
I have resolved to train her quickly—to dominate her as quickly as possible, and therefore, as cruelly as possible—so that we may have the Wedding Feast and the Mating Ceremony, and then I can move on to my next assignment and put her out of my mind until she’s to be mated again.
This is my resolve, as a soldier. As a Kapsuk. As cousin to Zethki, as nephew of the Krezithk. I’m the finest soldier in this colony, possibly the entire Kerz race. I resolve to obey my orders, to carry them out with precision and perfection, and then I do so without another thought.
And yet, my actions don’t reflect this resolve. I hear myself, and it’s as if another Kerz speaks. I have told an untruth to my cousin, without speaking a pure lie. It will not take much for me to dominate this human girl, to bring her into submission, and even if it would, this is hardly a requirement for mating with her. What I said to my cousin was nonsense that only sounded real; it’s true that I have heard this, but I implied that I believe it, which I don’t.
No. I heard myself say this to Zethki and it burned inside of me. Why did I say it? I’m obstructing my own progress, deliberately. And I sense that I’m doing it because of Anya Mann.
And so I resolve again to discharge my duties with cold efficiency.
I’m steel.
And then, when she steps from the bathing chamber, following Trasmea, tying her white robe at her waist, her head held high and her chin jutted defiantly, mykrythboils away this resolve.
I’m angry with her before we even begin.
CHAPTER10
Anya
Trasmea has explained to me that I’m going to some kind of training, but she didn’t seem to want to elaborate too much on it. She’s advised me to relent, to enjoy it, to embrace it as a way to access the endless pleasures—as she would have me believe—of mating with these Kerz barbarians.
I let her talk, and I store away everything she’s telling me, resolving to resist. It’s what I feel like I need to do; after all, this isn’t my choice, and I’m hoping that I can be as much of a pain in the ass as I can, so that they’ll realize that Fiona was a better choice and send me back home in exchange for her. I hate these people, I tell myself. Giving in is just so… primal. And goes against everything I stand for. And besides that, they’re reallymean.
And I’m 100% resolute, I really am. I’m not going to break.
If my body was just… more helpful. That would be great.
After the bizarre, humiliating ritual they subjected me to and the dinner, when I woke up in my room I expected to cry. That’s what I should do, I figured. After all, this is a terrible fate and I’m here against my will, getting humiliating examinations and promises to be ‘mated’ to no-one-knows how many barbaric aliens.
I’m being treated as a piece of meat, an incubator for alien babies, a plaything for hordes of huge, muscled soldiers with blue skin and sharp claws, who could tear me apart in a moment.
Trasmea explained that I have a special status, that I can never be hurt. She saysthat if a Kerz draws blood from me, he will be put to death in a painful way. That if he leaves a mark on me that lasts more than one day, he will be stripped of his honor. Therefore, according to the very kind, but totally bonkers Trasmea, I should not worry.
I’m not worried, I decide. If this is in fact the case—that I cannot be hurt—then I intend to resist until I’m sent home.
But, in a dark place where I don’t want to admit it to myself, I have thoughts that are much different than that. My body has thoughts all its own. And so I didn’t cry in bed alone last night; I turned on my side and stared at the huge window and the strange trees, and the absurdly beautiful blue of the planet we orbit on this moon and tried to plot my escape.
But what I was really doing was fighting the ache between my legs. Trying not to think of the Kapsuk, trying to banish the thoughts that I don’t want to have.
Trying to forget the feel of his fingers on my back, and the craving inside of me when he touches me or I see him. Trying to not imagine what he will do to me. Not because I’m afraid, but because I’m afraid of how I really feel.
I’m just suffering from a temporary dementia, I tell myself, as I step from the bathroom. Trasmea calls it ‘the chamber of baths.’ Hilarious. It’s this kind of thing I need to steel myself against. I don’t want to be a princess in a palace on a beautiful moon, pleasured by dark blue aliens with enormous strength, filled with their seed, taking baths in a chamber of baths (however glorious, admittedly, that might be).
I want to be back at my home, doing my work.
I do.
I lift my chin in defiance and rehearse these thoughts as I meet his eyes. He is wearing a black robe again. His arms are sculpted and thekrythencompasses his whole right shoulder, a glorious swath of that magical, scaly, velvet-soft, pulsing skin that glows. It branches out on his bicep, then crisscrosses down to his forearm.
“He has the mostkrythof any Kerz here,” Trasmea told me knowledgeably, and with a hint of awe in her voice. And a smile, slightly salacious. I didn’t pry, but she seems to know him pretty well.
Thatthinginside of me is plucked again, and vibrates, hot and delicious, cool and sickening, from my chest to between my legs.
