Chapter Eleven
“Hello, Ms. Orna. Welcome to Middlemarch Resort. My name is Saber Mitchell, and I hope you’ll contact me should you require any assistance.”
“Thank you,” Iseult said. “The journey was arduous, and I wish to rest before dinner.” Hopefully, she’d make it to her room before she lost grip on her form.
Already her eyes flickered with the beginnings of the shift, and she was starting to see everything in multiples of six.
A pity because she’d like to cultivate this man.
He bore a striking resemblance to Pretty. Another time.
“Space travel does affect some people that way,” Saber said. “Here you are. This is one of our best rooms.”
He opened the door and stood back to allow her to precede him into a stylish bungalow.
Tiles kept the room cool, and the shades of colors were to her taste.
But really, she didn’t care about the luxurious amenities, styled, according to the brochure, in the way of planet Earth.
All she wanted was to be left alone before he discovered her other nature.
“Thank you.” Get rid of him before the change starts. Get rid of him now. “I have a headache. I rest and recuperate now.”
“Of course. Should I send a maid with some blockers?”
“No, I have my own medication.”
“I’ll leave you then.” He paused on the threshold and turned back to her.
A fine view. Pretty view. Pity her control wavered too much for chitchat.
“Just so you know, I’ve arranged accommodation for your guards at the inn in the village. This resort has a strict policy of females only.”
“Yes, of course.” Her gaze flickered, and six images of Saber wavered in front of her. “Thank you.” She waited, and he stepped outside. Seconds later, he was gone, the door closed behind him.
A groan squeezed past her gritted teeth and her Spiderus shape burst free.
The fabric of her white dress split with a loud rent as her extra legs fought to form.
Iseult fell forward, dropping to her knees, her mouth wide in a soundless scream.
Her humanoid knees reshaped to black and delicate.
The change roared over her until nothing of her previous shape remained except her face.
She panted, her central valve speeding at the forceful shift.
Normally, she felt stronger in her Spiderus form, but right now a strange weakness gripped her, a peculiar sense of loss.
She ached, not in the physical sense, but something that was full of loss and yearning.
Emptiness. Confusion and unease drummed at her mind, and she scrutinized her room for danger.
Cool tile floors. Not white but cream. Acceptable.
Low seats grouped to appreciate the view of the jade-green sea and the bright solar light.
A bowl of bright-pink fruit, a contrast to the neutral cream furnishings. Nothing appeared out of place.
She was alone.
Water flowed down her smooth cheek and dropped—a red tear—onto her furry arm as the tangle of emotions inside her fizzled over and became too much, too hard, too difficult for her to contain.
The second red tear plopped onto the cream floor tile, and she stared at it, her anxiety ratcheting sharply upward.
What was wrong with her? Had she succumbed to an illness of some kind?
Her mind drifted to her remaining family—her older sister, who still lived on Spiderus and acted as the handmaiden to the king.
It was worth—no, she couldn’t approach Alana.
Alana still hadn’t forgiven her for promenading in the garden with her courtier husband.
Finding her younger sister mating in spider form with her husband had pushed Alana to act in a decisive manner.
Alana had forced Iseult to leave Spiderus, informing her she returned at her peril.
Alana wouldn’t accept Iseult’s presence, refused to forgive and forget.
No, her sister would laugh in her face if she sought advice.
Iseult scuttled farther into her two-room suite. The bright solar light had her shying against the wall, her retinas retaining a globe of white for long moments before it faded to normalcy.
“Shutters close. Shutters close. Shutters close.” Frantic, her voice rose to a squeak in her panic to avoid the light. A moan of relief slipped from her once the shutters whirred across to mute the brightness. She slumped, her head hanging as she sought the energy to rise.
Now that she was here at the resort, she wondered why she’d been so determined to come. No, not quite true. Pretty’s essence had made her giddy with happiness, and she craved a repeat of the experience.
But Pretty was dead.
Betrys had said he had brothers, kinfolk, and she had met one already.
Betrys.
Her assistant would know what to do. Iseult recalled Betrys had said the men were reluctant to sign her contract, even for the remuneration involved.
A shudder worked through Iseult—one of pleasure.
The piquant flavor of Pretty’s semen on her lips, the feel of it splashing against her chest, and driving inside her sheath.
The instant his essence had seeped into her skin and trickled down her throat. Delicious.
She needed to have that shot of extraordinary substance again.
The flavor had coated her tongue, brought a sense of exuberance.
And she would revel in the repeat taste.
By fair means or foul, since her guards stood ready to rush to her aid.
The barrier fence wouldn’t keep them out, nor would the two men stationed at the resort entrance.
Once her guards controlled the place, there would be nothing to stop her from locking up every single male and taking them at her leisure.
“Yes.” A hiss of affirmation. Mr. Saber would start her imbibing. Another hiss escaped, this one of recalled ecstasy and expectation.
And in the meantime, she’d order Betrys to attend her, help her regain her equilibrium. Iseult scampered to her discarded bag and pawed through the contents to find her communicator.
“Betrys,” she said in a firm voice, and relaxed once the call process began. It rang for long, long moments, and anxiety clawed up her throat. Where was her assistant? Where was she?
“Betrys Torin,” her assistant said in an impatient voice.
“Betrys.” Some of the tension in her legs and her shoulders seeped away. “It is Iseult. I have arrived at the Middlemarch Resort and wish to have a meeting to discuss your progress.”
“Of course. What is your room number, and when do you wish to meet with me?”
Iseult scrutinized her Spiderus torso and scowled.
It would be better if she could be certain of holding her other form.
“Tomorrow. We can break our fast together,” Iseult said and ignored the faint gasp that came from her communicator.
“Arrange a delivery of food for nine hours after the day change. You know what I prefer. I am in the select suite. Make sure you are prompt.”
Iseult shut off the communication before her assistant could reply, but she was confident Betrys would follow her orders. The woman from Petros was too terrified of damage to her son to risk disobeying an order.
“What’s wrong?” Leo demanded.
After answering her com-circle, the flush of healthy color had left Betrys’s cheeks, leaving her as white as the bandage covering his wound. Now she clutched her communicator so hard he feared it might break, and she paced back and forth until her rapid strides started to make him dizzy.
She came to an abrupt halt, her eyes wild with fear. “Iseult is at the resort.”
“Saber told us she was here,” Leo reminded her, puzzled by her reaction.
“It seems more real now that she’s demanding I attend a meeting with her.” She bit her bottom lip. “Promise me your younger brothers are responsible. They won’t mess up this chance to snatch Ricci?”
“Come here, sweetheart.”
She hesitated before closing the distance between them, reluctance in every step. “I don’t understand why you’re being so nice to me, why your brothers are helping to grab Ricci…” Her shoulders hunched inward. “You were hurt because of me.”
“Come here,” Leo repeated, his voice a sharp whip of demand. “Lie with me again. I want to talk.”
“I need to read my cards. That will tell me what to do.”
Leo stared at her departing back and gave a snort of self-derision. All his life he’d found it easy to grab a woman’s attention. They took one look at him and almost fell over themselves to please him. Betrys never behaved the same as other women from his past.
On hearing the front door open and close, he laughed aloud.
“Must be losing my touch.”
The door opened, and Leo cocked his head. Not Betrys returning.
“Saber.” Leo’s nostrils flared. “Scarlett. I’m awake. Come and entertain me.”
“Where’s Betrys?” Saber asked.
“Ugh.” Scarlett’s nose scrunched as she followed Saber into his bedroom. “Do you have to keep those creepy things on your shelf?”
“Yes,” Leo said. “They remind me to look before jumping. Saber, Iseult’s arrival has put the fear of God into Betrys. She told me she needed to read her cards.”
Saber frowned. “I hope she doesn’t lose her nerve. It’s too late to call things off now.”
“I won’t fail,” Betrys promised from behind them.
“My son’s life depends on me. I had to get my cards so I can do a reading.
The thing is, what will happen once we have Ricci?
Iseult isn’t stupid, and it’s so unusual for her to go off-planet.
She’s behaving weirdly, and she’s determined to have another man. She wants a Mitchell.”
Saber’s frown dug deeper into his forehead. “She’s not getting one. We can’t trust her, and it’s not safe. We’ve all seen what she did to Leo. She almost killed him, and somehow, she laid that egg sac in him. That can’t happen—”
“I’ve got some info,” Scarlett burst out, excitement radiating in her restlessness.
“That’s what we came to tell you,” Saber said dryly.