Chapter 10
Tavryn
Ifind myself scowling as Oliver leads Banjo away from me.
They’re both quiet. Too quiet. Like they’re waiting to get out of earshot before they start babbling on about who knows what.
I shake my head, sighing. Whatever they’re going to talk about at this “brunch,” which Stells informed me is a stupid human term for the meal they eat when it’s too early for the day’s second meal, but too late for the first, I don’t want to know.
I’ve got my own issues to deal with, namely spending time alone with the Despot without getting myself or Banjo on his bad side.
Oliver said the Despot had something “super fun” planned for us.
Hopefully it’s more interesting than trying to make casual conversation while sharing a meal.
I wouldn’t say the Despot and I have much in common, but small talk is definitely a skill we both lack.
“Staring at the elevator will not cause it to open.” The deep, booming voice from behind me nearly makes me jump out of my skin. I whip around to face the Despot, tail thrashing wildly. He smirks at me in response.
He continues as I pull myself together. “I did not expect the human’s absence to affect you so deeply.
” He lowers himself back on his haunches, bringing him down a couple feet so we’re closer to eye level.
“I apologize for acting rashly against your human. I am still not accustomed to the intricacies of human interaction. In the future, I will check with my Oliver before resorting to violent actions.”
He dips his head ever so slightly to me, the submissive gesture making my heart pound erratically. Whatever I was expecting from this morning, it was not this.
“I appreciate that.” I speak slowly, taking care with my words. “I understand how protective you are of your mate. Humans are…”
I search for the right word. There are so many derogatory terms I’ve used to describe humans in the past. Selfish.
Disgusting. Ignorant. Now that I find myself attached to Banjo, those words aren’t as appealing.
I go with something slightly less offensive.
“Delicate. Humans are far more delicate than I expected.”
The Despot nods in understanding. “I heard about your encounter with the Celix, Ovyrblyn.” The thought of that squirmy, sniveling creature has my nose wrinkling.
Part of me wishes I had shot him instead of merely threatening to do so.
“Your instinct is also to protect your mate. So I suppose you understand.”
That leaves me speechless. Banjo may be many things, but he is most certainly not my mate.
We have intense physical chemistry, chemistry that’s getting harder to ignore.
That’s all. Even if we act on that chemistry—something I imagine will happen sooner rather than later, based on this morning—nothing more will come of it.
Banjo is going back to Earth. He has a life there.
Here, he just has me. I know I will never be enough to change his mind, no matter how strong our attraction is.
I do the safest thing and change the subject. “Oliver said you have something fun planned for us this morning?”
The grin the Despot gives me is downright menacing. “Yes. I believe you will find it quite enjoyable.” He heads towards the elevator, movements graceful despite his massive size.
In a few minutes, we are in what appears to be a shooting range. At one end, strapped to a target, is the Celix who threatened Banjo. He squirms in the restraints, attempting to slide his many tentacles out of the bindings. It’s ineffective.
“Am I remembering correctly that you prefer knives?” the Despot asks, unrolling a thick, fabric sheath that holds a variety of beautiful throwing knives.
I nod, sliding one from its holder and testing the sharpness on a strand of my hair.
It slices right through. “Oh, these are lovely,” I coo, examining the intricate, floral carvings on the handle.
Beautiful and deadly. My favorite combination.
I pass the knife to my tail so I can look at another one.
Each features a different type of flower to create a gorgeous set.
“Are these Aelgeah made? I certainly hope you didn’t pay for them. ”
The Despot huffs, settling his weight down into the pile of pillows that makes up the audience area.
This isn’t the first time a being has been brought here as punishment for their misdeeds.
“I would not send them even a single credit,” he growls, claws puncturing the soft pillows beneath him before he slowly relaxes.
“These were in a shipment of weapons I recently liberated.”
“Fascinating.” There’s a soft zing as the knife launches from my tail and lodges into the target right above Ovyrblyn’s head. He attempts to duck, but the bindings keep him firmly in place. I throw another one right after, lodging it between two of his tentacles.
“Decent,” the Despot comments, shifting to recline more comfortably. “Though you should work on your aim.”
I force a laugh, even as the hairs raise on the back of my neck.
I see. The Despot didn’t bring this Celix here just to torture him and send him on his way.
I have the sinking suspicion that he expects me to do far, far more to the poor thing.
The thought makes my stomach churn. It’s one thing to kill when necessary.
It’s another thing entirely to do it solely for the pleasure of it.
It’s not helpful that Ovyrblyn seems to realize what’s going on. He starts begging, his words coming out between body-wracking sobs.
“Please!” he gasps, tentacles writhing beneath him. Unluckily for him, the bindings are made for beings with multiple appendages. We all know he is well and truly trapped. “I didn’t know! I swear I won’t do it again. Just let me go. Please, please, I’ll do anything!”
I finger another knife, glancing over my shoulder at the Despot. He snorts in response, as if he senses my hesitation. “Your little human wore your collar, did he not?” he asks, looking at me expectantly. My fingers curl around the handle of the knife.
“He did,” I admit with a slow nod. That’s not what Ovyrblyn didn’t know. Of course, he knew Banjo belonged to me. What he lacked was the awareness of who I am. Or, more importantly, who I am to the Despot.
“And he was properly leashed?” the Despot continues, waiting for me to nod again. “Then I do not understand your hesitation.” He gestures to Ovyrblyn, who is limp in his bindings for the moment.
“This being threatened what belongs to you. It is not the first time it has been reported to me that he acted outside of my rules. It will happen again, if we allow it.” Admittedly, that does make me feel a tiny bit better about this entire thing, but only a tiny bit.
It doesn’t make Ovyrblyn feel any better, though.
“I won’t ever do it again!” Ovyrblyn promises.
His voice pitches up with fear as I shift the knife to my tail.
The sound cuts right through me. I’ve been where he is right now.
I’ve made those promises. None of it mattered then, just as it doesn’t matter now.
I might be the one holding the knife, but I’m not the one deciding whether Ovyrblyn lives or dies.
And it sounds like the Despot has already made his decision.
“I’m surprised you didn’t have him gagged,” I remark, hoping it might inspire the Despot to do so. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. At least if Ovyrblyn is gagged, I won’t have to listen to him beg for his life.
The Despot shrugs. “I tire quickly of their pleading, yes, but the sound of their screams is quite fulfilling.” He snaps his fingers, and a servant rushes out carrying a tray laden with dried fruit and nuts.
He pops an unshelled croukow between his teeth, easily crunching through the hard exterior to get to the soft meat inside.
Numbness spreads through me as I finally accept this is happening.
I need to stay in the Despot’s good graces, for both my sake and Banjo’s.
If that means maiming someone while having a pleasant picnic, then that’s what I’ll do.
It’s not as if I have any choice. This is a gift, one I’m not allowed to refuse.
I take a piece of dried fruit, ripping into it with my teeth. It’s sweet, but I barely taste it. Maybe if I focus on the food, it’ll keep my mind off everything else.
As we’re snacking, I launch the third knife with my tail. There’s a satisfying thunk as it embeds in the target, quickly followed by a scream as it severs one of Ovyrblyn’s many tentacles.
The Despot cackles. “Now that is much better.” I accept the praise with a little smirk. I’m doing the right thing. Protecting myself. Ensuring I can continue what I do without interference from Qauvela. If that means snuffing out one Celix I don’t even like, I’ll do it.
“Please, please, please.” Ovyrblyn is chanting the word like a petition to some kind of deity.
I let myself pretend that deity is me. That his life is completely in my hands.
The rush of power is scintillating to someone who had been so powerless before.
This time, it isn’t me curled up on the ground, begging and pleading for them to stop.
An inkling of guilt wiggles its way through the adrenaline rush. I quickly stomp it down. There’s no room for that here.
“Shhhh,” I soothe, slowly twirling one of the knives in my hand. Ovyrblyn stops speaking, but he can’t quiet his blubbering fully. I give him a few moments. Just enough time for hope to bloom inside him. Once he’s finally calmed down a fraction, I continue.