I’d enthusiastically participated, touched him, licked at his skin—and the memory tore me up with shame.

  Sitting in that chair, dressed in civilian clothing, clean, vigilant… nothing about him seemed different or shaken. He stared at me with that same unwavering attention, that same fixation—utterly calm.

  Collected.

  Where I was vibrating with anxiety, naked, feverish, and at every disadvantage.

  I remained frozen in the middle of that grand bed, waiting to see if he might move two steps to the right and free up my direct line to the door.

  He did not.

  From a large crystal pitcher, clean water was poured, the sounds of it hitting the glass reminded me that I was, in fact, desperate for a drink. Raising the full cup, he held it out at arm’s length as he slowly approached.

  Yes, I took it. Swiped it right out of his hand, no care if I spilled, so long as I might bring it to my lips and gulp it down. Watching his every breath over the rim as I swallowed.

  Panting, my burning throat was somewhat refreshed, I calculated what the odds might be if I first took that pitcher, then ran.

  “Give me the glass, and I will refill it.” Sounding so cool, so even, ever the unshakable leader, the general smiled.

  Desperate as I was to hide away from his unblinking gaze, I was not unwilling to go without that water. “Give me the pitcher.”

  Green eyes sparkling, he said, “One glass at a time.”

  Fine.

  I tossed the empty glass right at him, only for him to catch it in midair as if it were nothing. Then he refilled it and outstretched his arm once again.

  More cautious in my retrieval, I took the glass slowly, stiff and ready to bolt. Once at my lips, every drop was swallowed. Handing it back, and then another full cup until my stomach was churning in warning that I’d better stop.

  Head pounding from dehydration, feeling unnaturally weak, I finished the last gulp and sighed.

  Taking the empty glass from my limp hand, he set it aside, saying, “Private transport brought us to our home two days ago.”

  This home was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Walls of windows high enough above the city that no fog hit the glass. Muted colors without a trace of drab academy gray. His adoration of pretty things was just as much on display in this space as it had been in his office. Even fresh flowers bloomed in a glittering vessel on a low table between two comfortable-looking wingback chairs.

  This room did not seem like it had been designed with a male in mind. It was very female. Prettier than anything I’d seen in my old magazines.

  I hated to admit how much I loved it.

  Sandpaper rough, my voice cracked. “I thought you lived at the academy.”

  Giving me room, he settled back in his comfortable chair. “My apartment there will no longer be required.”

  The implication wasn’t missed. He had slept on academy grounds, because I resided on academy grounds. Now, he had me in this new place, his stolen mate.

  Pulling the sheet tighter around my frame despite a strange fever growing in my skin, I said, “I need to use the bathroom.”

  With a nod, he said, “It’s through the door behind you. Take all the time you need.”

  As in, he wasn’t going to follow me? I could work with that. Sliding backward, dragging the sheet with me to cover naked flesh, I eased slowly off the bed—my eyes never leaving his form. One slow step at a time, I worked a backward path until my reaching hand found a wall at my back.

  “To your right.”

  Three steps to the side and I found the lavatory’s threshold, slinking back first into another unknown space. Before he might intrude, I closed the door, snarling to find there was no lock.

  The need to pee hastened me to the fanciest toilet I had ever seen, where my bladder emptied in a rush that reminded me of another warm rush that had surged from between my legs the last time I’d been lucid.

  A flood of ejaculate that had ballooned my belly, gushing out of me once the growth around the base of his cock subsided.

  Hot and frothy, smelling divine, it soaked us both as my stomach deflated until the length of his cock could be seen where it still lay in my guts.

  Obscene.

  Now, my torso was no longer swollen with male fluids. Flat, one might think I had dreamed the distortion. And though my skin didn’t so much as display a bruise, I was oddly uncomfortable inside and out.

  Achy and incredibly hot.

  A recessed alcove to my left resembled a large shower, shelves behind a door made of glass filled with bottles of things I assumed would clean a body. There was no knowing when he might intrude, and no certainty I would have another opportunity to bathe… yet I was unsure.

  My skin felt sticky against the sheet, my hair tangled and stinking of fluids.

  If he found me repulsive, he might not touch me again.

  No. That wasn’t going to stop a male who had been calculating his assault for a decade.

  For sanity’s sake, I needed to be clean. The thought of a cold shower almost had me in tears, so I dropped the sheet and dared to allow myself to be cornered in the tiled space.

  My mind hooked on thoughts that had to be addressed, I ran through my sorry mental list of what I knew of hybrid mating habits. They mated for life. The general had bonded to me. He would fuck me again. Maybe as soon as I left the bathroom.

  And I knew General Cyderial. He had told me himself how possessive he was of his mate.

  Said it right to my stupid face as I sat there ignorant as the day was long.

  All those years, those scant, important, life-altering conversations had been with the man who had been planning to claim me all along.

  A male full of tricks that confused me, that made me forget to resist.

  He would use them again if I refused his advances; I did not doubt it at all.

  Ruthless. His studies of how to pleasure me, as he’d claimed, had given him the greater advantage. Not to mention his greater strength and resolve to take what he considered his.

  This was an opponent I had fully underestimated.

  And I had lost. Ultimately, I had been ruined, my wish granted in an unexpected turn of events.

  Those windows showed me that I was so high above the fog that I wouldn’t be able to hear its song nor smell its earthy richness.

  From up here, it would be like staring at the top of a glowing white cloud, missing the damp that would have soaked my uniform and left my hair dripping.

  So, tears dripped instead.

  Silent tears fell from a stunned woman who had no idea what to do.

  But I could start with a shower, move through the motions until something might make sense.

  It was also okay to be clean. I could be comfortable as I grieved everything stolen from me.

  And he had not come into the room, for I had been incessantly checking the door.

  Plumbing more advanced than the simple knobs at the academy, the shower took some time to sort out. Summoning fresh water required the use of a high-tech interface that displayed options I did not understand. I requested cold water to cool my fever, directing the system to pour down from the showerhead above.

  Letting go of the sheet took effort, but I could not wash his sweet smell from my skin if I kept clinging. It fell to the floor, and I walked into the icy spray.

  Burning skin was soothed, my hands rubbing all that cold water into my face as if I might scrub my mind clean of all the ick.

  Two bars of soap sat on the ledge. I chose at random. Efficiency was key in the academy; I could scrub from nose to toes in one minute flat. It was the cascades of hair that ate up the rest of my minutes before rotation would be called.

  But I got caught. There was a new part of my body needing care that made me nervous to address. The seam between my legs was soft and a bit swollen, still extremely sensitive, and uncomfortable for me to acknowledge.

  But he had touched me there, fluids had been inside me, and I was an adult and this was my body. So, with careful fingers, I parted the slit and washed at what had been the cause of so much pain.

  No longer oozing slick fluid, it was almost innocuous, just a tender opening in my flesh. Yet the vibrant purple that flashed when the scales were pulled aside made it clear this was an opening designed to draw the eye.

  A mate’s eye.

  I ran a finger over the soft tissues, and though it was stimulating, it wasn’t like the mind-bending sensation that had left me vulnerable when the general had done the same. The opening that would lead to my reproductive tract seemed tight when I tested it by dipping a finger inside. The mechanics of how it stretched to accommodate that horrible thing writhing between his legs was miraculous.

  What had he actually done inside of me?

  Hand to my lower belly, I thought of the children he claimed were now waiting there. Fertilized embryos sleeping under my touch. How strange to know I was now carrying around life.

  I loved children, but I would never allow them to suffer all I had been through.

  Whatever he placed inside me would remain there, wasted. No child of mine would be handed over to the academy.

  Sober, sad, I set the bar of oat-scented soap back in its place on the ledge. Turning to a soft-pink bottle nearby, I gave it a sniff.

  It wasn’t a smell I could place, but it reminded me of the fruit cubes we were sometimes served in the warmer months. Pleasant and light. From the texture, it seemed to be for washing hair, but it might have been anything. However, it lathered when I worked it into my scalp. My hair was my greatest vanity, a feminine part of myself I had been allowed to nurture as a recruit, so long as I kept it tied up outside the dorms. Those long, silky strands… I loved them.

  Rich lather felt good as it cleansed what had become tangled and unkempt, soft bubbles soothing hot skin as they ran down to the drain.

  For a brief moment, I did enjoy such luxury.

  Under frigid spray, all suds rinsed away, and my body was clean enough to corrupt.

  Certainly, my time under that water passed the standard four minutes allotted at the academy, yet water still flowed. Which gave me time to explore the other bottles dotting the shelves. The pink bottle I just used had a partner. Like its twin, it smelled divine.

  Inside was something creamy that a small label on the back claimed would make my hair soft, shiny, and pretty.

  The general provided this for me, chosen those scents and textures. Prepared for the day I would be brought back to this place.

  Female things I might enjoy after a lifetime of being denied them.

  Which was confusing and equally infuriating.

  I wanted to try these luxuries, no matter if this was some kind of trick, so I read the directions and rubbed some of the creamy stuff into my hair.

  It felt nice as I finger-combed snarls with the slippery product, much nicer than the weapon grease the girls at the academy worked into our locks in secret.

  It rinsed out easily, my hair soft and smelling beautiful, leaving me with no other reason to stay under the cool spray. Conditioned to conserve water, having already wasted an extra three minutes, I turned off the shower.

  There were no regulation drying cloths, but some sort of fluffy blanket things were stacked to the side of the shower’s exit. Snagging one, I pulled it into the shower stall and found it worked just fine to blot water from clean skin.

  There was even enough dry fabric left to wrap it around my hair and squeeze out excess moisture. Usually, I had to squeeze it out by hand, my mane a dripping mess no matter how efficient I had been.

  Covering my nakedness with the fluffy rectangle of material, I opened the shower door and growled lowly.

  My discarded sheet had been stolen. In its place, folded fabric was left on a small woven table.

  The general had invaded my privacy.

  He had dared.

  Had he watched me bathe? Was he watching me even now from some corner in the overly large lavatory?

  Private thoughts I’d had under the water were not for an audience. Had he seen me touch myself or cradle my belly in my palm? The very idea was so humiliating my skin went pink as shame coursed through me.

  The general had said I could take my time! Perhaps I had taken longer than the standard four minutes, but I had still been relatively quick.

  And I heard nothing of his intrusion.

  That was a terrifying thought.

  This was his house. He knew where everything was, how to move from space to space. The ultimate advantage to my nervous ignorance.

  And he was playing with me. Leaving me things to explore, setting out lavender clothing he’d selected.

  Dressing me up.

  As a mate.

  These were gifts for a mate. And I had to either wear what that offering or be naked.

  Smooth to the touch, I lifted the fabric to find it was a sheer dress, unlike the ones in the magazines. It was long, flowy. When I held it up before me, the garment cut close to the body but wasn’t tight or revealing.

  I stepped into it, pulling it over my hips until I might drop the towel and quickly cover the rest of myself. There were no sleeves, just a pair of straps to hold the dress on my shoulders, leaving slick material to fall around me.

  One glance in the mirror and I ground my teeth.

  I had been totally wrong; the dress was indecent.

  So pliant was that lavender fabric that the exact shape of my nipples was on display. As I moved, it fanned about my figure, drawing attention to the swell of my hip and the dip of my waist. There was even a slit to midthigh.

  The black dress I had spent years creating highlighted a feature here or there. This silky abomination flaunted everything.

  I was more naked in that draping slip of cloth than I was without clothing at all.

  But at least I could run in it, where if I wrapped myself in the damp fluffy towel, I’d need to hold it to my body.

  My greatest natural defense was my talons; my hands needed to be free. Otherwise, I would have no means of defending myself.

  The new dress was not the only addition he’d brought into the space. A brush waited on the counter, a teeth-cleaning machine beside it. While running a cycle to scrub the fuzzy feeling out of my mouth, I worked the brush through my wet hair, trying not to be impressed with how easy it was to comb, thanks to the fruity-smelling stuff from the shower.

  Yet my hair was still dripping, each water droplet causing the already shocking dress to stick to my skin. This only led to frustration. Air drying would take time, and I knew he would not stay out of the bathroom forever. It would be better to face an opponent on my terms. Besides, the exit was in the other room.

  Long hair dripping down my back, I cracked my neck and flexed each finger.

  When I got to the closed door, I was ashamed of my hesitation to turn the knob.

  What point was there in hiding? None at all. Better to face the beast and learn what I lacked, educate myself so I might choose my next move.

  This was about survival.

  Flight and fight had failed me in the office. To handle him, I needed a real strategy. We would have to speak; I might even be able to negotiate something favorable until I might find my way to the fog.

  I was his mate, right? A certain amount of respect was supposed to come with the position.

  Several slow, measured breaths, then I mentally counted down from five, pushing my way out before fear might swallow me whole.

  But, one look at me in that dress, and his chest began knocking. Having been held down and fucked, I knew exactly what that rhythm demanded.

  Without thought, I ran.

  16

  In a blink, the general unfolded himself from the cushioned chair, launching his larger body right for me. “Wait!”

  Cyderial moved at a greater speed than any instructor or student I had ever trained with. Catching me instantaneously around the middle by a pair of strong arms, he proved his physical prowess was so far beyond my skill.

  Stronger. Larger. Hard where I was soft.

  Still, I fought with all I had.

  A lifetime of training in hand-to-hand combat earned me a few solid strikes, but not enough. Kicking air, all claws and snarls, I found myself completely outmatched. In mere moments, he had my hands pinned at my back, bracing my struggles against a broad chest.

  Not a single technique I had been taught made any difference.

  Cyderial was my superior—not just in age and rank.

  “Lorieyn, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  But he would do other things!

  Throwing back my head, I screamed at the top of my lungs. Even as the cries rattled windowpanes, I knew deep down no one would come to my aid.

  Who would oppose the command of a general regarding the female he’d stolen as his mate?

  His elusive rank was practically on par with God to hybrid kind. Humans revered all he had done to protect the settlement.

  He was a decorated hero. I was just a recruit with a mediocre performance record no one would miss.

  “Listen, my darling, you are safe. I am not going to hurt you. I’m not going to force you.” Patting my back like I was a child, he rocked me slightly, still pinning my hands to the small of my back. “All I want is to offer you some food. Just food, all right?”

  Showing teeth, I snarled, “Let go!”

  He did, his body between me and my escape route as he gently eased me down. Moving carefully away from where I shook, his hands spread in supplication before him, he apologized. “It was an involuntary response. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Involuntary? He was the one who had left me the naked dress and invaded my privacy. Rattled and angry, I barked, “You don’t have permission to touch me!”

  Nodding in agreement, composed despite the fact that he had just chased me across the room, he said, “You must be hungry. Conversation and dinner, that’s all I ask.”

  The door was still right there, five paces away. So close I could taste it. But I had seen the speed at which he could move. I would never make it. I would be caught and humiliated, and his response might not be as unruffled or apologetic the second time.