THE MATING CHAMBER
ELENA – RYTHAR’S FORTRESS IN THE GREEN REACH
The world jerksand rolls as Rythar hauls me down a narrow flight of stairs, then through a hall lined with guards. They stand at attention, but they turn their faces away as we pass. One guard startles. He’s clearly never seen Rythar carry a woman through these halls.
The doors open for Rythar on silent mechanisms. At every threshold, the signs of tech grow more obvious. The only noises in the corridor are his footfalls and my ragged breath.
He runs hot in every sense. Temperature. Temper. The rest of him. It’s in the tightness of the muscles along his back, his fingers around my thigh. I try to squirm free at every landing, but it’s like wriggling in a vise.
I try to snarl, “Put me down,” but it comes out breathless and thin. Half-scream, half-plea. He ignores it.
I’m stewing in fear and fury when the next door slides open and he sets me on my feet again. I stumble away from him, arms raised in front of me, wondering how he’s finally going to make me pay for my disobedience.
Rythar watches me, the red crowding out the gold in his eyes as his pupils enlarge. His black hair falls around his face, wild from my struggles. His lips are slightly parted, cheeks barelyflushed under the coppery tone of his skin. I expect to see anger on his face, but there’s something else—beneath the anger lies raw attraction. My heart races as he tilts his head slightly in a subtle invitation laced with challenge.
I’m not afraid of you, Rythar, I think.
But I am.
I am very afraid. But I don’t let it show, and I won’t let the fear get me. I glance around the room. We’re in a spacious, well-lit cave, carved into rock. The air is humid, like when a storm is rolling in. How appropriate.
The walls are a smooth black, revealing the lacy gold veins that run through them. The floor dips in terraced steps to a broad basin at the end of the room, and I find the source of the humidity. It’s a pale, greenish blue pool. The water flows slowly across a gentle waterfall, pools, and then exits. I think it’s a natural spring, tamed with Xytheos tech. It steams, warm and inviting. The ambient light bathes everything in gold.
The beauty of the room is shocking enough, but it’s the scent that unglues me. We’re underground, but it doesn’t smell like New Terra. This is primal. It’s spiced, green, and sweet in a way that makes my skin tingle.
Cinnamon. It finally clicks. The spice I smell in the Green Reach and on Rythar is a type ofcinnamon. It was expensive on New Terra. A rare holiday treat, back when we still had time for holidays.
There are furs scattered about, draped over shaped chairs and platforms, some on the floor, some near the pool.
The large objects are not merely furniture. They are intentional constructions, designed with curves that invite exploration, draped in furs and fabrics that shimmer faintly. They catch the light and drink it down.
I expected punishment. This is a private invitation to surrender—on his terms.
As if I could betray humanity for bowls of fruit and pitchers of water. And clean, massive, luxurious towels hanging in that alcove. And really comfortable looking couches. And that crystal-clear pool.
A few moments of comfort would be so welcome right now. But this is more than that. There are bottles that look medicinal, and trays of what look like ointments or pastes. Thinking of the scent of the sap at the Claiming Ceremony, I back toward the doorway, pulse hammering in my throat. I freeze as Rythar steps in behind me, crowding close enough to block any retreat. The door seals behind him with a hiss, locking out the world.
He stands so close I can feel the heat coming off him in waves. He might not breathe hard from exertion, but he gets warmer. I expect him to shove me, or order me to strip, or… something. Instead, he just watches.
Moments ago, I wanted to make something happen, anything, but now I’m frozen. The silence is unbearable. I face him, fists tight at my sides. "What is this?"
He doesn't answer.
"A cell? A cage? Do I get an inmate number? Or did you skip that step because I'm the only human unlucky enough to end up here with you?"
His jaw tightens. Still nothing.
"Translator broken again? Very convenient. Does it malfunction every time you'd have to explain yourself, or only when you're dragging me down a hallway like a sack of grain?" I yell.
His answer is a look that coils around me like steam. I can’t blame the mate bond—I’m purely sexually attracted to him. And it’s mutual—but he is barely holding himself back. His silence is not a translator malfunction. He just doesn’t need words—not with the way he’s looking at me.
My anger is only making him want me more. I flinch as he steps around me slowly, and he eases back. As I watch, he makes a full circuit of the chamber, as if inspecting it. He trails fingertips along one platform, then checks the edge of the pool. He tests the water, then turns back to me.
He’s giving me time to adjust. How much time, I don’t know. But I’m not stupid. I know what this room is for. A mating chamber. Built to breed in, but nothing here is clinically efficient. This is a place to enjoy fucking.
I swallow hard.
I could bolt, but he’s too fast. It would just give him an excuse to touch me again.
