“Well, that's not right away. There's the formal inspection. That begins shortly.”
“Inspection?” The word crawls under my skin.
“It is required as part of Drefling mating customs. The male Drefling is required to observe the potential mate throughout a variety of situations.”
Required. Not asked. Not agreed to. Just another thing being donetome.
“What kind of situations?” I bite the inside of my lip.
“I'm not sure, but Warlord Mekkra will be here soon, and I'm sure all will be revealed.”
And as if the cheerful robot summoned thebeast, Mekkra's hulking form enters the room, his body blocking all light from the hall.
Without acknowledge me or Starcroft, he sits grumpily in one of the oversized chairs across the room. He's topless, as usual. I'm sure it has to do with how hard it would be to dress his spines. But his legs are clad in cropped leather-looking breeches.
“You seem like you're in a great mood,honey.” I lay my distaste on thick.
He doesn't even look at me.
“I'm ready to get this over with—to be mated.” When he finally looks at me, it's with anger—and something else simmering just beneath the surface. I can't quite place it, but it looks like unease.
“Romantic,” I sigh, standing at the edge of my mattress. I glance at Starcroft, still ecstatic over his creation, then back to the uneasy alien. Despite my sarcasm, despite my fear of what comes next, my body chooses acceptance as the trauma response of the day.
I slip the silly dress over my head, before padding over closer to my new captor.
Maybe my brain is damaged from all the space travel or the weird gruel I've been fed these past few years, but I don't have any fight left in me. There might be a chance that after our mating ceremony he'll leave me alone… and for the times he doesn't, Lord knows I can dissociate with the best of them.
And I feel it when that last bit of hope inside me breaks.
“So, what do we do now?”
The gauze dress is just sheer enough that I know he can see my nakedness underneath when his eyes linger a little too long on my middle. He coughs and stands.
If he wasn't in such a foul mood, he could have stared all he wanted before I was dressed.
“Traditionally, I bathe you.”
“I just had a bath yesterday. Can't we skip that?”
“No. You misunderstand. I bathe you as part of bringing you into my home. I wash away your old life so you may come free and clear into our matehood.” The warlord's hand curls into a tight fist at his side.
“Oh,” I mutter, realization sinking in.
“I'll draw the bath,” the chipper robot says, laying my wedding dress out on the bed before zooming into the en suite.
That leaves Mekkra and me alone, standing straight and staring at each other.
Despite the silence, something crackles between us. Numbness for me—anger as usual for him. Still, something is off, something I can’t quite put my finger on. He's not like the other aliens I've been sent to entertain—hell, he's the opposite of that slimy slug Quldo.
It's like he's constantly holding himself back.
“Starcroft said you wouldn't hurt me… or rape me.” The second word comes out softer, but I keep my eyes locked on his.
“I won't,” he whispers.
I wait for him to come scoop me up, but he doesn’t touch me.
That’s what makes it worse—because it means every second of distance is deliberate. Chosen.
