Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The King of Khanos doesn’t saunter in the way I expect an all-mighty ruler might.
He simply appears, clad in a Grecian-style drape, similar to my own. Only his is a brilliant shade of opal blue.
It complements his light purple skin and accentuates how dark his violet hair and eyes are. The former is tied up today, leaving his thick neck and hulking shoulders on display. Clearly showcasing their tension.
No one says a word.
The Zortaire works his eyes over my body, from the pastel floor to my freshly brushed brown hair. When his gaze finally snaps to mine, the force of his authority hits me like a stab to the gullet.
“Norabi,” he husks. “Get out.”
Rude, but effective. My not-friend rolls her eyes as she bows, shooting me a pointed glare before she retreats.
Right. Mortana briefed me on this moment—I’m supposed to bow, too. Or curtsy. Or whatever.
But I’m motionless.
The door snaps shut behind Norabi. Something sparks in the king’s bottomless irises. Then he bows, displaying his large, curved horns.
“Sofia.”
One of the attendants gasps in horror, scandalized by his break from tradition. The Zortaire’s pointed ear twitches at the sound. His stern mouth quirks up for the briefest of seconds before he flattens it, dropping his focus to the tabletop.
I squash the flutter that storms my stomach, opting for a flat, grumpy tone. “It’s Sofi.”
The king’s faint amusement returns for millisecond, but he swiftly forces another scowl. “Sofi, then,” he says. “Come.” My thighs clench at the command, even before he adds, “Eat.”
Oh, dear God.
I am in trouble.
Norabi and Mortana tried to warn me about the potent allure of a true alpha for an omega. How being around them would make me want to be bred. I didn’t believe any of it until Rask tackled me.
Since he lulled me into sleeping for most of yesterday before he snuck out, I got to spend the better part of the night tossing and turning.
Remembering everything he did. The way it made me feel.
How it fulfilled more than just a physical need—it also soothed the deep-seated loneliness that had me on the verge of tears after Cylus left.
The physical stuff almost makes sense, if I believe everything these aliens have taught me. But the rest? The startling connection I felt when Rask pinned me with his quicksilver eyes…
…is not unlike the feeling I have in this moment, with Zolkan’s turbulent, violet depths trained on my face.
Fuck.
Didn’t I learn a valuable lesson yesterday? That just because these males seem to want me… it doesn’t mean they really want me? Waking up alone and confused—with no Rask in sight—ruthlessly drove that point home.
I wonder if the king can smell my darkening mood. His features suddenly crease, lavender skin pinching over his plated brow. “Unless… you don’t want to?”
It’s embarrassing how much I want to.
For one thing, I can’t actually remember my last meal. I think it might have been half a turkey sandwich during my last earthly lunch hour. I’m actually unsure how I haven’t been ravenous yet. Maybe the Bop-Its pumped me full of some sort of alien sustenance?
But, no. It’s him. The true concern in his features, mixed with something I might dare to call hurt…
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I do want to please him.
The horrifying realization puts a croak in my voice. “T-that’s okay,” I reply. “I’ll eat.”
Good Lord, the relief beaming from this male. How am I supposed to resist the urge to put that look on his face?
An attendant scurries forward, tugging out the chair on the opposite end of the table. Just as quickly as he softened, the Zortaire snarls. His tail whips in displeasure, halting the server.
When he speaks, though, he sounds remarkably level. “Here, please,” he says, gesturing to the spot directly beside his.
The servant takes his minor outburst in stride. She scrambles to obey and Zolkan clenches his jaw, adding. “She will always sit here. Inform the others.”
I find myself trembling as I lower myself into my designated place. The girl bobs a bow as she hurries away. “I beg your pardon, Zellina.”
I have no idea what that word means, so it must be some sort of slang. But Zolkan doesn’t approve. His expression sours, casting the poor alien female one last thunderous look as she exits.
The king’s claws tap against the tabletop for a long moment before he clears his throat.
“Apologies,” he grunts.
Huh. So maybe it was an insult? Before I can ask, Zolkan slides the metal platter toward my empty plate. With a bolt of surprise, I realize the place setting is actually part of the table—a slightly raised disk carved from the same metal.
Doesn’t that make them hard to clean?
Is there alien magic for that?
Oh.
Oh my GOD.
For a moment, I think the heavenly scent is coming from the odd breakfast laid out between us. But Zolkan shifts in his big chair, drawing my attention to the way his exposed muscles clench. The stark angle of his jaw. And whatever terrifying intensity lurks in his eyes.
It’s him, that new, oh-so-helpful voice chimes, echoing underneath my ribs. His Alpha musk.
Mortana taught me that term when she started muttering about Rask’s this morning. Apparently, it’s all over my room—and while no one asked why, I suspect they already know.
Can Zolkan scent it? Will Rask get in trouble?
And why on not-Earth am I soaking wet at a time like this?
My panty-less pussy clamps on air, seeping slickness I don’t understand. Zolkan’s scowl heats from scalding to thermonuclear.
Shit.
Maybe I’m about to get in trouble.
“Are you—” the king begins, his voice rough. “Have you changed your mind?”
I don’t know what he means. Is he talking about being bred by him? Or being on Khanos in the first place? Either way, my answer is still no.
Right?
I gulp, shaking my head. “I—I just want to go home. Are we sure that isn’t possible? Ever?”
His thick features crumple, his plated brow crouching low. “You ask if it is possible for us to break galactic law and replace you on your home planet without detection?”
Well, when he puts it like that, I sound like a bitch.
Desperation crowds my lungs—I assume it’s the urgent desire to leave this place, and I nod. But as my head bobs and his expression darkens, I realize it’s a different sort of fear altogether. The flip side of the part of me that wants to please him.
I can’t keep my eyes on his when he’s angry. The violet flashes and swirls—and I turn coward, dropping my chin.
“You truly do wish to go home.”
He says the words as if they’re a death sentence. The final nail in a coffin of his own design.
Yes! I want to scream.
No, everything deep inside shrieks. Please, no.
“I—I—”
The Zortaire has mercy on me. “That’s enough, omega,” he mutters. “I understand. Nevertheless, you are stuck here, on Khanos. The best I can offer you is a life unencumbered by me. After your heat passes, and it is safe for you to leave, you will be free to go.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, or why it’s imperative for me to stay in his palace during my alleged “heat.” I don’t get to ask him, though. Because he ends the conversation with an unceremonious splat.
Something mossy gray and oddly wet hits my plate. I glance up, startled, as more unidentifiable substances land in front of me.
Zolkan is… serving me food?
Meat of some sort, I believe—only it’s fuchsia. Along with fleshy cubes that look sort of like reverse dragon fruit, black with white speckles.
The whole scene just looks wrong. Jarring colors and textures, all on a not-plate in a color humans normally wouldn’t eat off of…
My stomach flips. “O-oh, I-I’m okay,” I start, ignoring my stomach’s grumbles. “I don’t need to—”
The king interrupts with a growl. “You will eat.”
A shiver darts down my spine. His command reverberates into my bones, igniting a shower of sparks behind my sternum.
Goddammit, I really want to do what he says.
By the time I realize he’s used some sort of alpha magic on me, it’s too late. I’ve picked up the tiny not-fork—a miniature triton?—next to my plate. The three-tined tool stabs one of the spotted cubes and finds its way to my mouth.
Huh.
It’s spicy. In a good way.
A peppery kick hits my tongue, along with a burst of gel-like coolness. The combination is striking. And sort of delicious.
The Zortaire’s gaze burns my cheek, watching intently until I swallow. Too late, it occurs to me that I didn’t even ask if the food was safe for me to eat. I just did as he told me without question.
What—and I cannot stress this enough—the fuck?
“Is—” I sputter, nearly choking. “Is all of this even—”
“Yes,” he replies, curt. “Cylus has run a compatibility analysis. There are only six foods on Khanos that you cannot eat, and I’ve already had them entirely removed from the palace.”
Oh. Wow. Okay, then.
I sneak a peek at him again, both relieved and disappointed to find his attention on his own not-plate. Unlike me, he doesn’t appear to be tasting any of his breakfast. He shovels large bites past his stern lips, pointedly fixing his focus on the platter he’s rapidly emptying.
It’s the hot-pink meat. He must like it, because he clears three helpings before I muster the nerve to try a bite.
Whoooooa.
I can see why he enjoys this so much. It is meat—don’t think about what kind, Sofi—and it’s somehow as tender as prime rib with the distinct, cured saltiness of bacon.
We both chew in silence for a long moment. Part of me wants to eat and sprint back to my room, away from the dark mood swirling over the Zortaire like a thundercloud. But another, more urgent piece screams that he needs us.
Us? … Who is “us”?
I’m not sure. I only know that the voice buried behind my lungs feels like a separate person, all of a sudden. As if being around this purple guy has given her a mind of her own.
Talk to him, she urges, proving my point. Say something.
I slant a glance toward the hulking creature next to me, once again noting the terribly tense set of his shoulders. Yeesh. Poor man seems even more stressed than I am. And I was literally just abducted by aliens.
“So…” I start, only slightly squeaky, “you… wanted to see me this morning?”
Zolkan impales a spicy fruit cube with enough gusto to shatter a regular human plate. “No. I thought it was a horrid idea.”
Well, then.
His brusque reply sends two reactions swirling through me. Outrage, bubbling hot and thick, into my throat. And a disconcerting swell of sadness.
The bridge of my nose stings as I hold my feelings in check, choosing to hone in on the indignation.
“Well, I didn’t exactly ask to be here,” I snap.
“But you sent your lackies to choose me against my will, locked me in a suite, had me bathed and powdered and put into this ridiculous dress—all so you could summon me to eat with you! So I assume you must want me here in some capacity.”
Wow. Okay. I meant to tell him off, but I didn’t mean to shout at the King of Khanos. Or call him a liar.
Embarrassed and nervous, I drop my gaze to my lap. Silence expands between us, along with a crackling current I can’t comprehend. He waits until I can’t take it anymore and finally raise my chin.
The Zortaire’s dark eyes track every twitch of my features. His tight throat works over a swallow. “I do not want you here,” he states again, calmer. “Sitting with you is agony, for me.”
Pain scrapes my center. Hurt clangs louder in my chest. It makes no sense, since I’m pretty damn sure I don’t want to be here, either, but I suppose it’s a natural reaction to being told your presence is “agony.”
The Alpha flinches, as if involuntarily reacting to a slap. His scent blackens, losing all of the sweet, smoky notes. Its bitter bleakness curdles my stomach.
“But being the only omega on Khanos would be very dangerous without my protection,” he goes on, still not looking away. “So, if you ever want to be able to leave this palace, we must put on a good show and convince our people that I have claimed you.”
His meaning clicks. My numb lips move. “By eating meals together?”
He spears another piece of meat, chucking the whole thing into his mouth. “Yes,” he grinds out. “To start.”