Chapter 15
Aweek had passed since I was allowed to see Maeve. A week in which I had plenty of time to process all we discussed.
To wonder if she fully accepted her role in this endeavor.
To understand that if she did, I too must keep my part… and what that would mean.
Though I desired the company of my friend, her counsel and clarity, Cyderial did not permit me to summon her to his office again. Perhaps he was right to do so; endless conversation on an unchanging topic was not going to give either of us a deeper acceptance of the expected sacrifice. She needed space to consider what I shared, to grieve the life she now knew she’d never have.
I needed to decide if I truly would do something so horrible as grow pregnant and betray my unborn child.
Of course, I told Cyderial nothing of my fears.
But he knew. And he watched me closely.
In those seven days, my new routine at the academy was established. Though vastly different than training as a recruit, my daytime hours were just as busy. Meetings where I listened to elders discuss the inner workings of hybrid education, with subtle, secret language peppered throughout pertaining to the humans’ expectations of the next crop of graduates.
Where improvement was necessary to meet those expectations. Where disaster might lurk.
Such talk made me feel unclean when Cyderial explained the finer details later in private.
The more I learned of the humans’ demands, the less I understood them.
Each farmer I had known over the years had been so sweet. They built a personal relationship with me, risked punishment to teach me forbidden knowledge and offer me sweets.
But… I now knew Cyderial had known all along. He’d watched me from the fog, chosen each of them to suit my personality and needs.
I might have been protecting them from rampaging vorec, but they were also nurturing me.
Regular humans were not so… civilized. The heartbreaking experience at my mother’s house had shown me just how cruel they could be.
But was it fair to judge an entire population on one bad afternoon?
Then there were the academy instructors. Integrating with them, as an equal of sorts, was vastly uncomfortable. Several had done me substantial bodily harm in the name of teaching me how to thrive. More than one, I despised. But they were so normal when recruits were not about, sipping coffee and chatting about the weather, the state of the fog, interesting vorec sightings.
Armed watchers had to obey me.
Yet not one of them would meet my eye. Cyderial’s orders.
Being his mate made me a freak, while it also gave me power I was uncomfortable wielding. None of it had been earned; it was just the residue of my mate’s status.
Yet I was still treated with deference and seemingly without resentment.
Instructors who had previously been horrible… were courteous and patient.
And I hated it.
I hated the duality of life—before and after being mated. I hated that everyone had been in on some kind of secret yet never shared vital information with the very girls in their care.
Mostly, I struggled with hating my new, bleak outlook on life.
Weapons Instructor Durim was soon to be officially promoted, and I would be taking over her position as Swordsmanship Instructor for the youngest recruits. Where prior to my mating I had been her assistant, now I was tasked with leading the class under her watchful eye.
And I was failing at my job.
Durim openly side-eyed my method with the children—clicked her tongue and complained to my mate that my empathy was unacceptable.
Because I was kind, she had to come down harder to pick up my slack when they failed to obey me.
Which was exhausting, infuriating, and an obvious flaw in my character as an academy instructor. Outnumbered thirty to one by the children, I did my best, and it seemed they did like me—even if I had become the ultimate traitor.
But it was already obvious which little ones would not make it past their upcoming finals—and now I knew what would be done to them.
The boy who stuck out his long tongue at the girls, laughing when I told him to stand at attention. The girl twirling around when she was supposed to be kneeling until her legs grew numb.
Perfectly normal children who would be culled if I could not alter their path in a matter of days. The reinforcement of no painful consequences in my class would only lead them to act out everywhere else.
Durim was frustrated.
But I could not bring myself to break one of their perfect little fingers.
One afternoon, when the boy was particularly rowdy, I even started crying in the middle of class. Certain I was not cut out to be an instructor, that the responsibility was too big, I lost control of myself and sobbed into my hands.
Of course, my theatrics caused a general panic amongst the littles, a watcher reported me, and Cyderial descended.
My mate being a pure leader and utterly terrifying, the boy wet himself by the time the general was finished yelling at him.
Cyderial continued the class, and Cyderial did break three fingers. The boy, the girl, and another student who made a simple mistake.
Order returned, but all I could think about was the fact that my baby would have to go through this if I dared do something so stupid as grow pregnant.
I wanted my daughter to be able to twirl, to laugh, to sing….
The more these ideas came to me, the more I began to wonder what she might look like should I indulge in this insanity.
Would she have pale hair like her father, or dark, thick hair like mine? I always saw her with my brown, hooded eyes, and I imagined a pretty smile that would be taken from her when she was five.
When she would be forced to come here, and I might only see her in class. How much would she hate me for it?
Would she ever be able to forgive me for offering her up as a sacrifice before society developed enough to deserve her? Would she understand why I was so stupidly considering such a nightmare?
Would it ultimately benefit her if I took this risk now before the opportunity for male support evaporated?
Was I wrong about everything?
Dark thoughts would come, daydreams about the fog I longed to disappear into. Secret wishes that poison air would roll through the city and choke all the humans who made this suffering necessary.
Secret bitterness grew in my heart; I began to sound like Cyderial in my thoughts. Why should we die for them, when they already solved the issue of their existence with our creation?
But so many of the humans did not see us as their children.
Strangers on the street called me an abomination.
Many would call my children abominations.
How I could have grown so disillusioned so quickly saddened me deeply. But I forced it down, hid it, unprepared to admit my inner failings to the very man who shattered my world view.
In a matter of days, teaching those wonderful children, knowing what I knew, I grew to loath the unseen humans in power—influential men and women whose names I heard in meetings yet never so much as laid my eyes upon.
I wished horrible evils would befall them. Then shame would come for such dark thoughts.
Afraid of what it might mean should I confess my wicked imaginings, I submitted to my mate’s ridiculous possessiveness and let him exorcise my demons without complaint.
He told me to eat; I ate.
He told me to drink; I drank.
Sleep? I closed my eyes. On the white couch in the middle of the day. In his arms in the night.
Spread, yield, climax? Yes.
Cyderial was the master of purging shame straight from my body.
“You can talk to me, Lorieyn.” He said it so sweetly, smoothing loose hair that escaped the knot at my nape, offering me something sweet to snack on while I worked through the endless paperwork that came with my new position.
In his office, perched on the white couch, I refused. “I don’t want to.”
“I’m here when you change your mind.”
I hated that he could be so nice when he was also so terrible. But I also didn’t resist when he sought to give me comfort in any way.
Against the wall, on his desk, atop the exact place on the floor he hurt me the first time.
Even there. There, I climaxed until I thought I might die.
Because I was a broken person starved for anything to make me feel better.
Each morning, I arrived at the academy with my stomach flat but had yet to leave once without my belly swollen and huge.
Between duties, I sought him for comfort. I sought him for company. I sought him out for pleasure when I was in the mood to play instead of brood.
I indulged in my addiction.
In his home, watching him cook for me gave me delight. His tricks with the knives, his terrible jokes, seeing the way he chugged down nutrient fluid, knowing he was preparing to fill me to bursting… all of it excited me.
After work hours, we enjoyed sweet moments of comfortable silence. Long walks past the hybrid reservoir, explorations of the interesting layout of our segment of the fascinating city. Maze-like streets designed to confuse the vorec should they break through the walls. Old remnants of the original settlement unpopular with humans yet embraced by my kind.
Fair General Aegir, stoic General Boreal, and deviously smirking General Murdoch hovered near wherever I went, watching me with that unblinking stare males preferred.
Men who I saw trailing us through the city, no matter where Cyderial had taken me. Who stalked me any moment I stepped a toe outside Cyderial’s home or the academy.
When I noted it in irritation to my mate, he brushed off my concern, happy to have three determined males working to ensure I was safe, so long as they kept their distance.
After all, my fertilized eggs might be their only hope for future partnership.
Their obsession with my safety was only rivaled by that of the male who could not keep his hands off me.
Who knew exactly how to distract me from my fears and concerns, and who showed me there could even be moments when I was at silent peace.
As if Cyderial could sense the second I was settled, he would often take those opportunities to taste me, regardless of onlookers. And I knew what he was doing, associating the action with my contentment. Training me.
Which was why, sometimes, I bit him.
Which only excited him all the more.