Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 38865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
How wildly generous. He is looking for levers to control my behavior. Do I crave human company? No. I have worked among aliens all my life. The human on this world is a deserter who left the Authority in shame. She is as diametrically opposed to me and my values as it is possible to be. I will not be seeking her company.
“I intend to lead you through the port and the city to my home. It is a walk of a mere fifteen of your minutes. If you can avoid creating a scene in that time, you will be rewarded. If you must be punished for whatever action you take, attempting to escape, for example, or behaving in a manner unbecoming a captive, then I will have the opportunity to make a further example of you, and I can assure you, you do not want that.” His eyes are glittering with dark intent.
I cannot forget that this entire escapade is an exercise in vengeance for him. He does not want me because he likes me. He wants me because I made him look stupid, twice over, first by infiltrating his region as a post box, and then being traded away in the guise of a man. I am here to prove his point, and everything he does is to that end.
“There,” he says with one final stroke. “Your hair shines like the starlit night.”
His compliments are so at odds with what he intends to do to me. He is keeping me mentally and emotionally off-balance, another trick intended to exert control. If I was more naive, I might begin to believe that he thought me pretty or attractive, but in truth I know he has a stable full of women. He does not need me for anything besides vengeance.
“It is a pity you chose the life you did. You might have made a very good mother. Certainly, you would have produced beautiful children.”
He has no idea how close to home he is hitting. It is though his words are barbed arrows guided by an unseen hand.
“How many do you have? Children?”
“Oh. Dozens,” he says, dismissively. “They are all grown.”
“Really? You haven’t produced an infant in twenty years?”
“Once you have done it twenty or so times, it loses its allure. You have not produced any, and you are nearing thirty. I imagine your thoughts turn often toward being bred.”
He says it so crudely. I hate that I am so transparent and predictable. Yes. I want a baby. I want what many women have wanted, trillions of them across time and species. It’s not exactly a genius leap to make. But it is something I intend to deny.
Before I can deny it, he leans in, his lips so close to my ear I can hear the slight rattle of his rough voice.
“I could breed you, my little human. I could plant my seed deep inside you and make you the happiest little harem girl in the world.”
That’s a truly twisted promise, but why does it make my inner walls clench with need? It’s because of the filthy, primal, carnal nature of it. It’s because there’s a part of me that does just want to make this as animal and simple as possible. I want to be fucked. I want to be impregnated. And I want to have a baby so I know some good has come of my existence, some love has been spread into the universe.
I laugh. It is the quickest way to show derision and hopefully direct him away from what I’m truly afraid of: that he already knows far too much about me than is good for me.
“Will you behave yourself for your slave parade? There will be many to admire you, I have made an announcement to every male soldier and lord in the city to come see you. There will be more male attention than you have ever dreamed of in your short human life.”
He was not exaggerating the crowd. There are thousands of Dinavri men here to see me. I take a few steps out and am absolutely overwhelmed. I never got this much attention as a spy. It was my entire job not to draw attention. I try to control my breathing and keep my eyes down. All thoughts of rebellion or acting out have gone. I do not want to be in their gaze any longer than I absolutely have to be.
They seem to press in on all sides. I do not know who or what controls them, but I know that there are far more of them than there are of me, and that I could easily be torn apart if they were allowed to put their scaled hands on me.
I expected embarrassment. I did not anticipate this much fear. I breathe deep and I put one foot in front of the other. The insistent pressure on the collar becomes something like a comfort as it provides direction.