Page 68 of Tempting Fate

He’d let me do anything I wanted, I was sure. But I couldn’t take advantage of him. He was too sweet, too naive, it would be wrong to use his innocent enthusiasm to slake my lust. I was supposed to be taking care of him. Daiytak was trusting me to take care of him.

I’d get some oil so it wouldn’t hurt him, and that would be that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Cataclysm

Airida

I WAS DEPRAVED. I must be. When Imani had licked her hand and spoke about her wet quim—her cunt—I’d thought about how her mouth might feel around my cock.

I had no illusions I would ever experience the wet heat she spoke of. Joining in that way was for mates. It was what I had always been told, had always believed. And I had been hidden away, shameful secret that I was. I’d known a mate would never exist in my future.

Yet now? I was not on Orith, and its truths were unravelling. Tangling. Tripping me up.

The possibility of a mate existed for me. It was still more than I could comprehend, as was the idea of a cunt—yes, I liked this word—but the possibility of a mouth?

I should not think on it. I should sing my rites. I should continue to learn how the bounty hunters’ guild worked. I should find trades for my sister and learn more of what news rocked Orith in the wake of my departure.

Orith. There, it would be Sacrifice week, where we would reflect on the family members we had Sacrificed to the galaxy in order to bring trade goods back to our planet. I could not access Orith’s commnet from here, but some on Orkri still followed Kri’s ways. But they would not have a Sacrifice week. What, then, did they have?

According to the commnet, they read the same section of the scrolls. I traced my eyes over the familiar passage—and sucked in a breath.

He sacrificed one set

of bones. The wealth he

gained beyond measure.

And so, his sacrifice

was that of integrity,

offering up his

place amongst the

ancestors.

I stared at the second paragraph. I knew this section like I knew my spines, and I had never seen those words before.

A video sat adjacent, a young, beautiful kri’ith gazing at the camera. Their commentary was reverent, captivating—and hilarious.

Before I got sucked in too far, I paused it. They spoke so knowledgeably but referred to ancient commentaries, of meanings underneath meanings.

No commentaries existed. Only the words of Kri.

With chills pricking my veins, I looked up these writings. Thousands of years old, according to multiple official sources. Pictures of ancient vellum texts with writing in sacred purple inks. One of the only original copies, liberated from Orith in the latter days of the Cataclysm War.

I read on, searching for a truth I desperately hoped did not exist yet knew I would find.

“After the culmination of the Cataclysm War and the exodus of progressive kri’ith to Orkri, Orith went into seclusion. The new founders destroyed all references to the ancient commentaries, and they reinterpreted parts of the scrolls to fit their new vision.”

And this week’s passage?

“When Orith made the hypocritical decision to acquire galactic goods, the government’s reinterpretation portrayed traders as a necessary sacrifice. They disgraced their ancestors by twisting the moral meaning to their own designs.

“From the very first days of a secluded Orith, dissenting voices were deported to the newly-formed Orkri as treason. In this way, history spanning a millennia was erased in little more than a generation.”