Chosen by the Dragon Alien (Zarux Dragon Brides #2)

Chapter 6

SIX

Cyprian

Cyprian didn’t know how he was going to do this. His gaze flicked to the elaborate tapestry taking up one whole wall of Fivra’s suite. It was quite a contrast to the pretty little Terian attempting to walk across the room in a seductive manner. His gaze then settled on her once again, a sliver of amusement threading through his voice. “You’re still thinking too much about it,” he said, running a hand through his hair. Never, not once, had he encountered a female so unsexy in a way that made her utterly irresistible. Even now, he forced his hands to be still when they wanted to reach for her. He kept his body where it was, when all he wanted to do was close the space between them and see how they fit together.

It had been a full turn of the station’s cycle run—forty cycles in all—since Fivra had arrived. During that time, he’d given her space. He’d made sure her health improved by having Ria serve her nutritious food and ensuring she had access to Erovik’s extensive exercise center, where he knew Fivra enjoyed learning to swim in the pool and using the virtual walking course.

He told himself he was keeping an eye on her. Making sure she adapted to the station, but there was more to it. So much more. The truth was, he couldn’t not watch her. Every free moment he had, he needed to know where she was, what she was doing. Was she happy? Was there anything she needed? He was becoming obsessed— him . The director of the most elite brothel in this part of the galaxy.

Fek , he had no idea what to do with the attraction he felt for her. “If you’re going to capture someone’s attention—” he leaned closer, because he could “—the allure needs to be a natural state. Like it’s involuntary.”

“Doing this with my hips isn’t a natural state.” Fivra’s back remained stiff as she tried to act out Cyprian’s instructions. She took a step forward, but nothing about it was fluid. A sharpness remained in her posture—her shoulders too rigid, her footsteps too measured. She simply wasn’t built for seduction. Or rather, seduction of clients. She was doing an excellent job of captivating Cyprian. So much so that the thought of her with another male put a sour taste in his mouth.

The outfit she wore had been a compromise, according to Ria. It was a two-piece confection of shimmering red-gold fabric. The top was snug and sleeveless. It ended at her ribs and revealed her midsection. The bottom was a skirt only in the most literal sense. It had slits on either side that ran straight up to the hip, revealing the length of her legs as she moved. It was one of the more modest options in her new wardrobe and it drove him to the point of madness.

“Stop.” He waved a hand and closed his eyes, partly to block out the mouthwatering view as she moved her hips in an attempt to walk with “allure.” He needed a moment to get his head together. She was fekking stunning. “You’re going to pull something if you keep trying this.”

Fivra paused. Her pink hair fell over her shoulder as she turned her head. A fleeting look of frustrated defiance crossed her face. It was her new characteristic look, one he noticed now that she was settled in and was no longer in a state of acute fear. He liked seeing her personality emerge—the real one. Not the terrified abductee. This Fivra had opinions. She had no trouble voicing them, either. “I’m not like the others here,” she muttered.

Cyprian sighed and leaned back against one of the plush chairs in the suite. “That is true. But if you’re going to deal with clients, you need to be…something else.” He hated saying that. He really hated thinking of another male in this suite with her. Touching her. Using her beautiful body. Bringing her pleasure. He wanted to bring her pleasure. No one else. Ever.

Fivra’s chin lifted a fraction, something that came close to pride in her expression. “I’m capable of many things, Cyprian,” she challenged, her voice a note lower than before, almost with a hint of menace. “Is there another way I can pay off the contract?”

He couldn’t think of one that wouldn’t take most of her life, but the closer the time came for her to be with a client, the more he pondered paying it off himself. It was becoming a problem, this possessiveness he felt for her. It didn’t matter how many times he reminded himself that she was not his. His body continued to be aroused when he was near her— fek . Just thinking about her made him hard. And his heart didn’t accept it, either.

He exhaled slowly. “No. Sit,” he ordered, gesturing to the low velvet chair near the window. “Let’s see if you know anything about lounging. Looking relaxed and inviting. That can be as seductive as walking.”

With a terse nod, Fivra lowered herself to the chair. She paused before sitting, omitting the usual motions he would have expected—no graceful fall of fabric, no flash of bare leg revealed by accident. Instead, she plopped down, straight-backed, with legs tucked neatly together under the slit of her skirt.

Cyprian rubbed his temple. “Not like that. If you sit like that, you’re giving nothing away. Not a flicker of intrigue, not a single reason to look twice.” He came forward and crouched in front of her, his hands taking her ankles and sliding her legs together to the side. “Try this. Angle your legs. Relax your shoulders.”

Her eyes fluttered as his fingers moved over her skin. Her bright blue eyes burned with quiet intensity. “Why should I want to be looked at like that?” she asked, her voice steady as ever. “Like I’m prey?”

His breath caught—just for a moment. There was something dangerous in those words, something that made his dragon fire burn in his throat and his cock stiffen in his pants. He shifted, feeling the tension between them grow heavier, more layered. “That’s the way the quadrant works,” he said, but even to him, the words felt shallow, insufficient against the weight of her question. “You’re not prey, you’re…controlling the prey. There’s a difference.”

She studied him carefully. The silence stretched between them. Her cheek twitched slightly—a tiny change—but enough to signal, maybe , the flicker of doubt in her mind. “If that’s the way the quadrant works,” she replied after a moment, her tone cold yet thoughtful, “then perhaps it’s the quadrant that needs changing.”

He dropped his hands with effort—her skin was impossibly soft—and moved back to sit on the chair opposite her. “Tell that to the females who work here, who earn credits and plan to retire in wealth and comfort. Unlike you, they were raised for this life. They know nothing else.” He knew nothing else. “ Courtias are experts in the art of pleasure. Here, we give them safety and choice.” For years, he’d been part of the elaborate games of power and manipulation, thinking he understood every nuance of how these dynamics worked. But confronted with Fivra’s quiet refusal to play by those rules, he realized for the first time that perhaps there was a path outside the one he had always followed—whether he liked to admit it or not.

She frowned. “I see your point. For them. But Cyprian…” She lifted her hands and let them fall. “I know what happens in these rooms. When Terian females show the gold spots and our hair changes color, we’re taught about the mating act to prepare us for bondmating. The older females tell us how to make the males complete fornication as fast as possible. With as little pain as possible.”

He frowned. “It shouldn’t be painful. It should be enjoyable.”

She shrugged, clearly unconvinced. “This is what we’re taught. Our elder females advise against doing things to make the males want to copulate more, or to draw out the process.”

Fek , no wonder she was resistant to, well, everything he was trying to show her. If she associated sex with pain, or at least, annoyance, the job of a courtia must seem like torture. “That’s not at all what good sex is like.”

She met his gaze with one raised eyebrow. “Do all the courtias have good sex with their clients?”

“No,” he admitted. “But they do not have painful sex.” And if they did, that client never set foot in Erovik again. “Clients need to win over our courtias in order to be granted access to their suites. It’s an honor for one like Viparia to welcome a male to her bed.”

“And you?” she asked quietly. “Does anyone welcome you to their bed, Cyprian?”

The question nearly knocked him off the chair. He stood up abruptly, walking a few paces towards the window. Hevatica Station’s light painted half of the room in an icy glow, piercing through the room’s warm lights like a cold eye judging him from above. If she knew how much that question affected him, she’d be shocked, at the very least. He felt her presence behind him, still seated in that impossibly composed posture. “No. I am not a client.”

“Never?” She sounded skeptical. “Viparia and Siku are so beautiful. It must be hard to be around females like that and never be tempted. Surely, they’ve been interested in you.”

He let out a garbled laugh. “It’s not as hard as you think. The courtias are beautiful, but they are a lot to manage, and as for being interested in me, no. They’re not.”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe that.”

“Why not?” He turned and looked at her, puzzled.

“Because you’re…” She waved a hand up and down toward him. “Very attractive.”

Cyprian dragged his gaze back to the illuminated station beyond the window as he grappled with the turn of the conversation. She thought he was attractive. Attractive enough to draw the gaze of one of Erovik’s courtias . “There is a hard rule within these walls,” he explained with a tight throat. “Management does not touch the courtias, and the courtias do not seduce management.” Turning back to Fivra, he dragged in a ragged breath and forced away the thoughts of Fivra in his bed. Whether either of them liked it or not, she was a courtia in training. She was not his. Would never be his.

If only his body would listen.

She met his gaze steadily, even as color crept into her cheeks. “I see.”

“Good.” He clasped his hands behind his back so she couldn’t see the claws that threatened to extend. “Your resistance to the ways of Erovik is understandable, but you will pick up on the tools you need and learn in time. We are throwing a party of sorts for our regular clients two cycles from now. I want you to attend— not as a courtia —but as an observer, to see how interactions work between clients and courtias . I will make it clear that you are not available.”

Her face went blank. “What do I have to do?”

“Mingle,” he replied. “Talk to those who approach you. Watch the other courtias .”

Her brows furrowed. “You’ll be there?”

“Of course. I’m the host.” Cyprian reached out and tucked back a lock of pink hair. It was impossibly soft, just like her skin. “I will keep a close eye on you.” Very close .

She looked pinched. Her hands knotted together. “You promise?”

“Yes.” Fek, yes. Anyone who touched her would be expelled from Erovik so fast, his head would spin. “Let’s put these lessons aside for now,” he said. “I can see we will not get far today, and I’m not one to beat a dead bot.” He offered her a small, wry smile, hoping to ease some of the tension that crackled in the air between them.

Fivra’s posture relaxed ever so slightly, the barest hint of relief showing in her eyes. “So, we’re done?”

“For now.” He nodded, crossing the room to settle back into the plush chair opposite her. The soft hum of the station’s lifeblood pulsed around them in time to the thick beat of his heart, which was sending far too much blood to his cock to keep his head clear. It was time to change the subject. “But I’m curious. Tell me more about your previous world. I’m curious about this overseer,” he said, leaning back and fixing her with an intent look. “I’ve never met another Zaruxian, and yet, here you are, speaking of one as if they were commonplace.”

Fivra’s gaze dropped to her hands, which were folded in her lap. “The overseer… He is a figure of authority and protection in our settlement.” Her voice was quiet with the weight of memory. “He’s the one who communicates with the Axis, who mediates disputes, and who ensures we meet our crop quotas.”

“Crop quotas?” Cyprian echoed, his interest piqued. This was the first he’d heard of such a system in the penal colonies. It made sense that the Axis would try to squeeze as much resources from their inmates as possible. It was a very Axis thing to do.

“Yes,” Fivra continued, her gaze distant as she recalled her past life. “We are required to provide a certain amount of produce to the Axis at regular intervals. If we fall short…” She trailed off for a moment before beginning again, her voice barely above a whisper. “We receive fewer resources of food, medicine, tools. Our fathers are afraid of the Axis. They have to be. The Axis doesn’t tolerate failure, and yet we never produce enough to please them.” She wrapped her arms around herself, as if the memory of those harsh times sent a chill through her bones.

Cyprian watched her closely. “And this overseer,” he said, his voice steady, “he looked like me?”

Fivra nodded. “He has wings like you, and his eyes are silver, too. But his scales are a deep purple, not reddish, like yours. He is…imposing.”

Cyprian’s wings twitched involuntarily at the description. It was strange to hear of another of his kind, especially one who held such power over others. “Did he ever mention where he came from? Or why the Axis chose him to oversee your settlement?”

“No,” Fivra replied fervently, shaking her head. “He rarely spoke to us directly, unless it was to deliver instructions or reprimands. We were told to never approach him.”

A heavy silence settled over the room as Cyprian processed this information. It was clear that Fivra’s overseer played a significant role in the lives of those on the settlement, yet he remained an enigma—a distant figure whose motives and origins were shrouded in mystery.

“Fivra,” Cyprian said, leaning forward with a troubled expression, “I need to know more about the Axis’ involvement with your settlement.” He wasn’t ready to tell her that she had been a prisoner in a penal colony. At least, he assumed she wasn’t aware of it. She never described herself or the others there as anything but farmers or residents. One thing he’d learned from her was that this was a generational penal colony, which meant Fivra had committed no crime. She was serving a sentence of her ancestors. “Were there other beings working for the Axis?”

She frowned, her brow furrowing in thought. “The overseer’s the only one who lived there with us. He has a fortress on the mountain. We were taught to avoid the Axis’ agents when they came to collect the crops. My father spoke with them, though, when he loaded the crates onto the transports. He said there were rumors about the overseer.”

“Rumors?” he prompted, eager for any scrap of information that might shed light on his own past.

“My father said that the agents hinted that the overseer wasn’t the only one of his kind,” Fivra said hesitantly. “That there were others scattered elsewhere in the quadrant. But it was all hearsay. And it didn’t affect us, so we didn’t think much of it.”

Cyprian’s mind raced with the implications of her words. If there were more Zaruxians out there, working under the Axis’ command, it could mean that he was part of a larger plan—one that he had been ignorant of for far too long. “And did the overseer ever tell any of you why you had such a connection with the Axis?” he asked, trying to find out for sure whether the Terians knew they were prisoners.

Fivra shook her head. “No. Our lives were tied to their interests. We were taught to worship them. To see them as our protectors.” She snorted, a sound that was not very courtia -like. “That is a lie, obviously. They gave us to those raiders. The way they demanded our crops, the way they controlled our lives… It was as if they were cultivating us , just as we cultivated the land.”

Cyprian’s jaw tightened. Her assessment was incredibly accurate. The Axis’ reach was far and wide, but the notion that they were meddling with entire populations for generations was unsettling. “Thank you, Fivra,” he said, his voice low. “I wish I could have met your overseer, but we don’t even know what planet you are from.”

Fivra looked up at him, her blue eyes reminding him of the waters of the station’s healing petrel bath. “Do you think you may be related to him? Like I said, you have similar features.”

“I…don’t know,” Cyprian replied. “I am not aware of having any family. I was raised by the Axis, myself.”

“Raised by them?” Her face pinched. “How does that work?”

“Ah, I wish I could tell you, but I have very few memories of my youth. It’s as if they’re blurred out, somehow. Perhaps my kind doesn’t retain memories of their juvenile phase. When I was of a certain age, I was sent here to train under the previous director of Erovik. Now, I run it.”

A flicker of confusion crossed Fivra’s face. “That’s sad, Cyprian,” she said quietly. “I hope you find out about your family.”

“I’m not sure there’s much to learn about them.” No one had come looking for him , that was for sure. Cyprian stood up, his wings unfurling slightly. He intended to move towards the door, but Fivra rose, too, and suddenly they were standing too close together. She was right in front of him. He could feel the warmth of her body. Her breath feathered against his chest and he shuddered.

Her brows knitted. “Are you cold?”

“No,” he murmured. “Just the opposite.” And before he could think it through and talk himself sensibly out of it, he dipped his head and brushed his lips to hers.

It was reckless, bold, and a terrible idea. And his entire body shook with the relief of it. Of finally tasting her.

Fivra didn’t back away. She didn’t move. Her mouth stayed where it was, under his. There was something tentative about the way she held her head just so—tilted and upturned, as if she was testing this out, seeing if she liked it.

He did. Very, very much.

He needed to think. He needed to get out of this suite and away from Fivra before he did something incredibly foolish and let this continue. With supreme effort, he straightened and stepped back, dragging air through his nostrils and not placing a hand on his rigid cock that screamed to be released from his pants. “I will leave you now,” he said, taking in the color in her cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “Rest and relax, Fivra. I will see you at the party.”

She blinked and shook her head. “Keep your expectations low.”

He smiled, attempting a teasing tone. “That’s not what we tell clients.” It came out a touch harsh, because of the hunger pounding through him.

As expected, she didn’t get the humor. Her eyes went dark and inscrutable. “But you’re not a client. You’re…you.”

What the fek did that mean? he wondered as he left her suite, finally alone—no one was in the corridor, thankfully—and rubbing a hand on his aching cock. He thought he understood females, after all these many, many mig-cycles of working at Erovik, but this one confounded him. This one had the power to undo him.