The powerful warrior turns and glances at his battle-brothers.
“Do you not feel it too? For the first time since I tasted Natali’s scent, it’s like it’s there, in the background – but it’s not controlling me any longer.”
They don’t feel it.
I know I should feel relieved – but there’s a thought nagging in the back of my mind. The thought that I’m not so special after all.
I mean, it’s nice not to worry that I’ll be pressed against the wall and taken by the aliens – but there was this seductive, intoxicating feeling of power knowing the impact I had on them. I loved the way they looked at me – like they were constantly on the brink of losing control.
I mean, of course I wasn’t planning on making them snap – but I still loved knowing that I could push them over the edge at any second…
I can still feel Otho’s handprints on my ass. I can still feel the rippling aftermath of his harsh discipline, tingling through every cell in my body. Even though he’s calm now, there’s suddenly a sharp, new edge to the way I look at him.
This has changed the dynamic completely. Despite my defiance, things can never go back to the way they were again. The Aurelians spanked me – they reduced me to a whimpering puddle of eager flesh. How can I ever feel like I’m equal to them again?
But could I still make them snap? Do I still have that power over them, at least?
What if I reached forward right now, and grazed my hand down Otho’s huge, muscled chest? What if I look up at him, pouting my lips – just begging for a kiss?
Instead of Otho, I stare up at Lazar. Those cold, grey eyes are so intimidating as they study me. Lazar has an intelligence to him that makes me nervous. I might have already grown used to feeling small and vulnerable surrounded by these towering alien warriors – but I’m not used to the feeling that one of them is two steps ahead of me intellectually, as well.
But just as it did with Otho, something suddenly changes in Lazar. It’s like the moment I lay my eyes on his, he stiffens. It’s almost as if his subconscious can feel the way I was just imagining making him snap – as if I could will him to do it with the power of my thoughts alone.
Staring right back at me, Lazar draws in a huge breath in – trying desperately to control himself. Involuntarily, I take a step back – unconsciously trying not to tip him over the edge, no matter how loudly that half-buried part of my psychology is begging to experience it.
For a moment, there’s silence.
Then, he gruffly barks: “Follow me.”
When I refuse, he adds:
“Let’s go.”
I can feel he’s trying desperately to maintain control…
…and that fills me with the surge of seductive power again.
Lazar and Otho walk ahead of me – striding together up the stairs. Lazar’s huge rifle bounces across his huge shoulders with each step.
As I follow them, I realize they’re treating me differently than before. Maybe it was the influence of Brennan. His delicious cruelty, and the way he nearly snapped just moments earlier, have wound up making the rules of my captivity even stricter than they had been before.
I shiver. That one has a sadistic side to him – and a forbidden part of me is curious to experience it.
Then, I remember how it was Otho who’d disciplined me – not Brennan. It was Otho specifically who’d made me feel so small and helpless. He was the one who’d punished me – hard – in order to dissuade me from ever trying to escape again.
Gods, I can still feel the delicious sting of his hands on my ass. I can still feel the way each of those heavy, open-palmed slaps made me feel more and more like I was utterly under his control.
I know I should be resentful of Otho – I should hate him right now...
…but it’s as if he triggered something in me, and now I’m filled with shameless, mental images of…
Oh, Gods!
…of serving him.
Serving him, like a maid. I suddenly imagine the huge, alien warrior lounging back in a chair while I obediently bring him a tall, cool drink brimming with ice cubes.
It’s utterly shameful, but it’s as if Otho flipped a switch inside my mind – and I’m not sure these new emotions can ever be turned off again.
Shivering, I follow the two warriors up the stairs and finally emerge from my makeshift prison. Even though the smog covers the sun hanging overhead, I still blink as my eyes adjust to natural light for a moment.
Then, following the two warriors, I find myself walking through the ruined and abandoned factories that dominate this sector of the city.
They’re hallmarks of another time in Marn’s history – when honest people and industry prospered here. Those days are long gone. Now, it’s a place ruled by crime families and faceless corporations.
Lazar and Otho lead me to a clearing amid the ruined cityscape, where we stand across from a shoulder-height wall.
I clench the smooth, black pistol tighter in my hand. What kind of captors are these Aurelians?
Not only did they arm me, but they’ve even turned their broad, muscled backs to me – offering me targets almost as wide as the wall I’d shot at down in the basement prison.
Even with my poor aim, I know I could raise this pistol and fire before the two of them could react – and probably hit something.
Do they really think my aim is so bad that I’d miss completely?
I don’t understand it. I just can’t believe the amount of trust that my so-called kidnappers are placing in me.
We reach the shoulder-height wall at the edge of the clearing.
Of course, it’s only my shoulder-height. For the Aurelians, it doesn’t even
