He spoke to the other Ryvokia in their language and walked so briskly past him that Sonya had to skip along to keep up. Once they had passed through the doors, she opened her mouth to speak, but Rychor anticipated it and whirled around to look at her.
“Do not speak, or you will be punished again, and this time you will not be taken to the waters. Do not dare to disobey me, human. You will not utter another word until you are commanded to. And do not think,” he added this last part with a menacing voice, stepping closer to her, “that you will not be heard by all if you do.” He pointed a finger above him and pleaded with her with his eyes. “Everything is heard here. Do you understand?”
She didn’t. She had no idea what she should do. Trusting Rychor felt like a fool’s errand. Sheknewher best bet was to declare her consent loudly and get the hell out of this place like it had never happened. Sheknewthere was no happily ever after ending for her, and she strongly suspected that Rychor was merely toying with her, using a psychological ploy to…
What? she asked herself. Get her to consent? Why would he tell her not to, then? It made no sense, unless she accepted his crazy mating talk, which they hadn’t been able to finish.
And if what he said was true?
She opened her mouth a little, about to ask a question.
“Do not speak,” Rychor said again, pressing a finger to her lips.
And there it was. The reason Sonya always had hopeless relationships. If there was even a sliver of a chance that they could happen, she fell for it every time. She wascrazyto trust this guy, who wasn’t even a guy.
Rychor’s eyes moved to her hand, where his thumb was making patterns on her palm. As his touch had done before, the caresses were sending electric ripples of ecstasy through her core, and she had to fight to keep her wits about her.
“Why are you torturing me like this?” she whispered, breaking into a sob.
Rychor’s fingers ended in hard nails that were more like claws suddenly, pressing deeply into her skin, and he was moving them up her forearm, his eyes moving from her arm to her face.
“Do,” he said slowly, his fingers moving on her arm. “Not.”
She narrowed her eyes. Was he doing what she thought he was? She looked down at her arm, her features softening.
“Speak,” he said, as his fingers traced the shape of the letter s, then p, then e…
“Okay,” she whispered, nodding her head. “I got it.”
Did she have it? She didn’t know. Her head was spinning, and she doubted herself. The stakes were as high as they had ever been in her whole life, and here she was, imagining that Rychor was drawing letters on her arm.
He tugged at the leash roughly and led her down the corridor. She followed warily, but with her mind spinning. She tried to focus on the twists and turns they took in the corridors, but her vision was blurry with tears and the emotion of hopeless love she carried with her wouldn’t let a single thought crowd into her mind.
“You require rest,” he declared gruffly when they were in the sleeping chamber she had been cocooned in. She saw the platform rise and looked at it, hesitating.
Rychor turned her to face him and lifted his arms to take the collar from her neck. His fingers brushed over her collarbone, along her neck… That couldn’t have been an accident, could it? She begged him with her eyes, but he didn’t meet hers.
He lifted her up to put her in the cocoon, and she clung to him, her arms around his neck.
“Sleep now,” he told her, as she sank into the heavenly material and it started to fold her into it. Sleepiness crawled into her bloodstream, and her eyes were instantly heavy, her body calm.
She had a smile on her face, though, and fought to look at Rychor until the last moment.
Your message was received,she tried to tell him with her eyes.
Because, as he carried her to the cocoon, his fingers had drawn letters on the small of her back. Small glory to the grade school practice of doing that same thing in assemblies with her girlfriends. She had transcribed the message and guessed the ending, accurately, after the first three letters.
T… R… U… S… T… M… E
CHAPTER12
Afina was displeased. Displeased enough to channel all of her displeasure toward Rychor. Displeased enough that, to his surprise, she raised the security cage to block their signals to the Ryvokia consciousness after he entered her chamber.
She was waiting for him, seated on a throne-like chair, her eyes moving over her monitoring screens. Her fingers strummed the armrests, agitated.
She flicked one, and the Ryvokia consciousness dribbled away. It was not much of a relief for Rychor, though, because he still had to guard his subconscious from Afina, who was already attempting to pry into it.
“You guard your thoughts from me,” Afina stated. She didn’t seem to expect an answer from him one way or the other. She moved on, turning her head to look at him. “The recent human specimen still refuses consent.”
