Sniffling again, she stares up at me with tears wetting her cheeks. “I just want to be treated like everyone else. Being labeled a slave is bad enough but being valued only for my ability to breed is humiliating. I’m more than a set of ovaries.”
“This you have said before.”
“But you never listen. You just keep forcing me to be a slave. I need a real life. Lying around some posh home, breeding one child after another for a rich alien that I might not even like will slowly kill off everything that makes me unique and special. I know you don’t want me to be beat down like that, so why won’t you at least talk about setting me free?”
“Setting you free would be inadvisable because any being could lay claim to you. I cannot protect you unless you are mine. You ask me to risk that which I value most.”
“I deserve the dignity of risk in my life.”
She will not be put off this ridiculous idea of attaining freedom. Reaching out, I slowly unbind her, unnerved at the way the rope has marred her soft skin. Picking her up, I carry her to my cleanser. My willpower crumbles in the face of her earnest desire to experience life on her own terms. Reluctantly, I have to admit she deserves a better life than the one that she’s been dealt. She clings to me like I am her last hope. Little does she know how harsh the verse can be, even for one such as myself. “Come, we will find a way for you to taste the freedom you crave. Though it costs me dearly, I will do what I can for you.”
Taking my time with her, I gently wash away her tears and rub scented oil into her muscles to calm her down. It seems that we have both run out of words, so we climb into bed and she falls asleep with her head on my chest.
The sadness of realizing this is all in the verse I need to find happiness settles on me like a damp cloak. Not once did she proclaim her love, affection or preference for me as a male. She used the word like in reference to me. One likes a fruit, a pet or a friend. Like is not a word one uses to describe a mate, and this is how I know she does not share my feelings. The reason is clear. I am a broken warrior. I do not have the ability to attract a mate.
11
Carissa
Waking the next morning curled up against Tarion’s large crimson body, I feel conflicted. His handsome face is so relaxed and serene when he sleeps. His tail is laying limp over one leg, reminding me of its dirty deeds the night before. His arms are coiled around me so tight I can hardly breathe. He’s possessive, even in his sleep.
Images of last night float through my mind, causing my whole body to tingle. He fucked me senseless like the dominant Drakon male he is, taking care to give as much pleasure as he received. I honestly love the way he handles my body. We’re totally in sync when it comes to sex, if nothing else. I snuggle closer to his hard, warm body, rifling through the images of last night for evidence of him overstepping sexually. I find none.
When he released me I was really losing it emotionally. Being in his arms as he did his best to calm me down made me feel like I mattered to him. Maybe he was just tired of the hysterics and wanted to shut me up, but it seemed like more.
Looking back, his behavior makes me wonder if our intimacy beforehand was lovemaking. My head fills with a thousand doubts and I begin second guessing myself. I can’t think clearly with him so close and the scent of our shared sex hanging so heavy in the air.
Climbing quietly out of bed, I pull on my clothing and slip out of his quarters. Deciding to explore the ship seems like a good way to clear my head. I intentionally stay away from the loading bays and escape pods to signal that I’m not trying to leave again. Tarion’s crew will certainly be monitoring my movements now that I’ve tried to escape.
My attention is captivated by the ship’s smooth, streamlined design. Each corridor is lined what appear to be benches built into the wall. Stooping to look at one, I see it is deeper than a normal seat and the back has a peak jutting straight up the middle. They also have a strange dent the size of my head formed into the metal where the back meets the seat. An indentation funnels away from it, growing slightly narrower off to the side of the seat. It takes me forever to realize it’s for their tail, or caudal, as Tarion calls it. The back with the ridge is clearly meant to accommodate their folded wings. I can imagine Tarion’s bulky form sitting in the seat with his wings pressing comfortably into the back designed to cradle and protect them, his caudal wrapping around to rest on the floor.
Each seat has a compartment set into the molded metal beneath. I open one, curious to see what’s in there. I find an assortment of food bars, hydration packets and other emergency supplies. There’s room for hundreds, maybe thousands of people to be transported, making me wonder what the payload of a vessel like this might be. Closing the compartment, I continue my exploration.
A door slides open automatically when I walk
