Chapter Nine – Zeth
Chapter Nine
Zeth
Wren scoffs at my compliment and shakes her head like she doesn’t believe a word I said. She waves me out of the bathroom.
“Out with you. I need to take a shower.”
The door closes in my face before I can respond, and I hear the water start running a second later.
I move to the bed and sit on the edge, picking up the remote from the nightstand.
I flip through channels without really seeing anything – static, infomercials, reality shows that all blur together.
I stop on a nature documentary about the African savanna.
Lions are hunting in a coordinated pride, stalking a herd of zebra across the plains.
The narrator explains pack dynamics in a calm voice, while the lionesses close in on their prey.
I watch them move together, synchronized and trusting each other, and I think about how Wren and I need to work together like that.
But right now, we’re not synchronized at all.
I try to focus on the documentary, but my mind keeps drifting back to the merge earlier, to how it felt to be inside her.
I remember her arousal and how close to release she was.
I could feel everything she felt, every sensation amplified through our connection.
Her clit was pulsating, swollen and desperate for pressure, and it felt like it was mine just as much as it was hers, the shared sensation blurring the lines between us.
The memory makes heat pool low in my abdomen, and I shift on the bed, trying to push the thoughts away. Even thinking about it is too much.
My cock begins to emerge from between my thighs, pressing out from my body and hardening rapidly.
I groan quietly and lie back on the bed, my hands curling into fists at my sides as I try to resist the urge.
I want to touch myself, need release from the tension building inside me, and I can hear the shower still running in the bathroom.
She won’t know, she won’t see.
My hand moves toward my cock almost involuntarily, and I think about Wren naked in the shower right now, water running over her skin and soap sliding down her body, her red hair wet and dark, sticking to her back. I groan again, and my fingers brush over my cock, feeling how painfully hard I am.
But it feels wrong. Deeply wrong.
She’s just in the other room, only a few feet away, and this is supposed to be a professional situation.
I can’t jerk off to her when she’s right there.
It would be a violation of trust and the boundaries we’re supposed to maintain.
I pull my hand away with effort and stare at the ceiling, trying to calm myself down.
I don’t understand why she affects me this way.
I’ve merged with dozens of hosts over the years, and it’s true I haven’t merged with a woman in a long time.
It’s easier to merge with men, as there are fewer complicated dynamics.
But even when I did merge with women in the past, it didn’t feel like this.
I remember being younger and being merged with female hosts, and some of those merges were uncomfortable and disturbing.
There were situations where I wasn’t in control, where I wasn’t given a choice, and times when I was forced to merge regardless of my comfort.
I made choices that left me feeling miserable and ashamed, and I want to forget those times and push them down deep where they belong.
I can’t let myself think about the periods when I had no agency, when my body wasn’t my own, and consent didn’t matter.
The memories kill my arousal effectively, and my cock retreats back into my body, the desire evaporating.
I sit up and force myself to focus on the documentary.
The lions have caught the zebra now, and the pride is feeding together.
I make myself watch, make myself concentrate, and then I hear the shower turn off in the bathroom.
The door opens a minute later, and Wren steps out in clean clothes, her hair damp and pulled back. She looks at me on the bed and pauses.
I realize I’m sitting rigidly, with my body language completely different from before. All the warmth is gone, replaced with cold distance, and I see her notice the change as confusion flickers across her face.
“What are you watching?” she asks.
“Documentary,” I say, my voice clipped.
She doesn’t say anything else, and I feel guilty for suddenly being icy with her.
She doesn’t deserve this shift, and she didn’t do anything wrong, but maybe this is the right way to be.
I’m her bodyguard and nothing more. I shouldn’t be thinking about her the way I just was, and I need to maintain boundaries and keep things professional, even if it means hurting her feelings.
Wren looks toward the window and sees the darkness outside.
“I don’t think I can sleep,” she says, and her eyes drift to the bed, where I’m sitting.
I know she’s thinking about how we’re supposed to share this bed tonight.
I stand up quickly.
“What do you want to do?”
Wren straightens and seems to come to a decision.
“I want to go out again,” she says. “Actually start the mission this time. There’s a club Captain Holt told me about that I should visit.”
“We need to merge, then.”
Wren steels herself and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath.
“Okay,” she says. “Do it quickly.”
Her voice is tight and controlled. I approach her, feeling how tense she is.
She’s standing ramrod straight, with every muscle locked, and she’s unyielding, braced like she’s expecting a blow.
It pains me to see her like this. The merge makes her take such a defensive stance, and she wants to bolt every time I step closer.
The only way she can make herself stay put is to squeeze her eyes shut because she can’t look at me and face what’s about to happen.
I hate that I cause this reaction in her.
I place my hands on her face and rub her cheeks with my thumbs, trying to soothe her. She opens her mouth to say something, but before any sound comes out, I push my body into hers. I do it quickly, like she asked, dissolving and pouring into her in one smooth motion.
Wren gasps, surprised by the suddenness, and I spread through her body rapidly.
“Are you okay?” I ask once I’m inside.
“Yes,” she responds through our thought connection. “It was just sudden. Took me by surprise.”
“You asked me to do it quickly,” I say, my mental voice gruff.
“Fair enough.”
Wren grabs her car keys and walks out of the motel room. She crosses the parking lot to the beat-up Honda Civic, and hops in the driver’s seat, starting the engine. She drives through dark streets, then parks the car a few blocks away from our destination. I see everything through her eyes.
Wren walks toward the club with confidence, and the bouncer at the door looks her over before waving her through. Heavy bass is thumping from inside, and when she pulls open the door, the sound hits us hard.
The music pounds so loud, it vibrates through Wren’s bones.
The smells hit next – sweat and alcohol, cigarette smoke and drugs.
Bodies are packed together on the dance floor, and strobe lights cut through the darkness.
Both humans and monsters fill the space, and I see women dancing naked in the laps of various monsters.
There’s an ogre with a woman grinding against him, and a vampire in a corner with two women draped over him.
A snake-like creature is coiled around a chair, with a woman in his coils.
Cash is changing hands, and drugs are passed openly.
This is an illegal operation and everyone knows it.
I’m used to places like this from past jobs but experiencing it through Wren feels different. She’s a woman, and she’s vulnerable. Even though she’s an FBI agent, she’s still at risk.
A protective instinct surges through me, and I swear to myself that if anyone so much as bumps into her, I’ll break their bones.
“Easy, cowboy,” Wren says. “Don’t go feral on me and make me break arms out of the blue. If someone bumps into me, so what? We have to stay low, not cause a fuss.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I won’t think evil thoughts again.”
She’s amused at that.
“Evil is fine by me. Just as long as it doesn’t get me into trouble.”
Wren weaves through the crowd, heading toward the bar. She slides onto a barstool and flags down the bartender.
“Is it okay if I drink a beer?” she asks me.
“Yes,” I say, confused by the question. “Why?”
“It kind of occurred to me that you can taste everything I taste.”
She doesn’t elaborate further.
I realize she’s thinking about the cigarette earlier. She’s being considerate and asking before she consumes something I might not like. Her thoughtfulness leaves me feeling warm and a little bit stunned.
The bartender slides a beer across the bar, and Wren takes a long drink. It’s cold and bitter, but not unpleasant. She looks around casually while drinking, straightening her back and making herself visible. She’s on display, waiting to be noticed.
A woman stops in front of Wren, does a double take, then throws her arms around her.
“My, my, look who’s here! Wren! When did you get out, girl?”
The woman is human, in her early thirties, heavily made up and wearing a tight dress and high heels.
“A few months ago,” Wren says.
“Why didn’t you reach out?”
“I was busy, Tasha. My life is in shambles. I’m looking for work but can’t find anything.”
Her tone is perfect – bitter, struggling and desperate. I’m impressed by her acting.
Tasha grabs Wren’s hand and drags her across the dance floor.
“I have to introduce you to my friends,” she says, and Wren allows herself to be pulled through the crowd.