Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 64359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Conversation wanes as every eye in the place goes to him. The aliens with their eyes on stalks retract them as far as they can, then wrap them around the furniture to peek out in a sneaky little way. The presence of a valker in a place like this is of concern. Valkers don’t need to hang out in illicit space. They’re one of the dominant species in the universe, which means they’re lawless and they get away with it.
Something in my stomach tells me that this is very bad news for me specifically. I tap back through my purchase history. I never pay attention to that. I don’t care who I’m selling myself to, as I never intend to cross paths with any of them. Technically I’m supposed to surrender myself to the nearest Owned Mates sales depot, but obviously I’m not planning on doing that.
Royal Valker Emrys
There’s a picture of the guy. And yes, of course, it’s the same guy who is now standing six feet away from me, scanning the clientele of the diner as if he’s surrounded by sentient filth.
I curse under my breath and start putting my things away. How the hell is it possible for a buyer to get here so quickly? The odds of the purchase being made on the same station are vanishingly small. It’s actually basically impossible. Which means something is happening that I don’t understand. I don’t like it when that happens.
He hasn’t seen me. He hasn’t seen me.
Deep blood-red eyes swivel toward me and make direct contact.
Ah hell. He’s seen me.
Alright. Okay. I can handle this. I knew when I started this little scam there was a chance I’d run into someone who thought they owned me. Would have been better if it wasn’t a fucking valker, but you can’t pick who purchases you, that’s kind of the point.
I force a smile to my lips. As far as he knows, I sold myself to him willingly. The game isn’t up yet. I’ll make polite conversation, then I’ll excuse myself to go to the bathroom and then I’ll run the hell away. It’ll be fine.
“Sarah?” He says the name that I put in the field where they asked for it on the sales form. I never use my real name with anybody, mostly because I’ve never been sure what it is, but that’s a whole other thing.
“Yes?” I smile up into the shadow that falls over me. There’s a chill in the air, a strange pricking against my skin. It’s rare to encounter someone with so much dark charisma that you can physically feel it.
“What are you doing here?” His tone is reproachful. “I am supposed to be picking you up from the Owned Mates depot.”
Every word is laced with a certain amount of heavy alien judgement. He has the demeanor of someone who does not belong in a place like this, someone who resents being here. He must have come looking for me specifically. I wonder if he went to the depot first. Probably. He looks like the sort of guy who is never inconvenienced by anyone or anything for very long.
“You seem to have found me anyway.”
“In a den of iniquity,” he says. “In a place where my mate would never be permitted to set foot. I am worried I have purchased a female with no understanding of proper behavior.”
This poor big, mean guy. He has no idea what he has purchased.
I school my features into something composed. “Is this a bad place? The coffee seemed alright?”
He narrows his eyes at me slightly, trying to work out if I am being genuine or not. Aliens have a very hard time reading human expressions, and they tend to think that humans are desirable but stupid.
“This is a den of iniquity and a haven for crime.”
“I haven’t seen any crime,” I say. “But the sundaes are good.”
“Get up. Come with me.” He snaps his fingers at me as if I am a dog.
“I’m waiting for another ice cream sundae,” I explain. “And I have to go to the bathroom. I need to pee.”
Something is beginning to stir deep in my belly. Something like fear. It twists and winds around my spine. There’s a coldness to this alien, a sort of ruthlessness that seems to leak out of him and infect the space around him. When I look at him, it is almost as though there is a lack of color to the world itself. He is draining the very essence out of the place.
The aliens who had been inching steadily closer to me over the course of my meal have now moved way back. A perimeter has formed from the invisible field comprised entirely of the force of his personality. I am inside it, and I feel the chill of his strange displeasure.