Chapter 34 Dom
THIRTY-FOUR
DOM
Her words strike like a lash, but I don’t flinch. I’ve known from the beginning how this would end, that she would twist every trial to make sure I could never pass. I’m a clone, just a disposable tool to her. I should feel anger, maybe even fear, but right now all I feel is a quiet resignation.
Calm settles over me as I look at Law-rah. She stands close, defiant, her presence a fire that blazes against the sterile coldness of this place. I can see the worry in her eyes, the way she clenches her hands, the struggle to hold herself back. She wants to fight for me.
And even though I know she’s doing this for my sake, for my safety, there’s a part of me that can’t cross the line she’s drawn. I don’t want her to have to sacrifice herself for me.
I love her too much.
Taking what is likely my last breath, I shake my head. “No, Law-rah. I can’t do it. I won’t cross your boundary.”
Her eyes widen, her mouth opening slightly, as if to protest. But I continue before she can speak, every hidden truth spilling out.
“I failed as a Base,” I admit. “I failed because I couldn’t respect your boundary. I want to be your mate, Law-rah, more than anything. Even though that’s crossing your line.” I swallow. “But it’s what I’d choose, if you’d let me.”
Silence falls in the room, thick and loaded. I know what I’m asking of her, what it would mean. I’m overstepping, this isn’t the place or the time, but I can’t hold it back anymore. Not when we’re standing on the edge of what feels like the end.
Her gaze softens. “Dom, please. I'm begging you. Fuck me.”
I shake my head and straighten, preparing myself for the inevitable. I’ll face whatever comes. As long as she knows that I chose this, that it’s my decision and no one else’s. That she is what I would choose, over and over again, given the chance.
I may have failed Samara’s rigged trial, and perhaps I failed her expectations of control. But as I look at Law-rah, I know I haven’t failed myself.
If this is the end, then so be it. But it will be on my terms.
“I won't do what you ask of me, Prif. I cannot follow that order. It's against all Parthiastock instincts to refuse, so this is true torture. Execute me, and bring me peace.”
“No!” Law-rah's still fighting for me, putting herself in the way of the good loyal Parthiastocks trying to reach me. I know they won't harm her, but it still hurts to think of some other male near her. Once I'm gone, I hope she finds a worthy husband.
One lifts her up, and I have to fight to stay in place. It's harder than not coming when Law-rah's fingers strum my nerves, harder than not moving or saying anything when all I want to do is scream.
“Dom, don't take it! You didn't fail, fight them!”
I cannot obey that order either. I brace myself, wishing the final blow will fall quickly, before I snap and rescue Law-rah, prolonging the inevitable.
Samara’s face is a mask of triumph, her mouth twisting in satisfaction as she looks between Law-rah and me.
The whole room is waiting, on edge, ready for blood—for my blood.
A voice cuts through the tension, soft and firm, with an unmistakable authority that commands attention.
“Enough.” The Voice’s tone is unwavering as she steps forward, glancing around the courtroom with a serene assurance.
With a single touch to his shoulder, the Voice makes the Parthiastock let go of Law-rah. She runs immediately to my side, throwing herself in my arms. She trembles, and I wrap myself around her to protect her as much as I am able.
The crowd falls silent, their eyes turning to the Voice as if magnetized.
The Voice fixes her gaze on Samara, then looks at me, her expression softening.
“He did not fail, Prif.” Her words are gentle but leave no room for argument.
“In fact, he’s under the greatest control of all, his own.
Even under extreme pressure, even when Law-rah pleaded with him to cross a boundary he did not wish to cross, he held firm.
3D0M has demonstrated mastery over his behavior, even when his desires were in conflict with his orders. ”
A faint hope stirs in my chest as I meet the Voice’s eyes. She’s choosing her words carefully, speaking not just to Samara but to everyone gathered, reshaping the crowd’s perception of the trial.
The murmurs in the audience grow softer, considering her words. The Voice casts my actions in a new light. I didn’t fail, I followed my own orders. I wasn’t mindlessly driven by emotion. I was in control
The Voice steps closer, extending her hands to the crowd. “Please, forgive the Prif,” she says. “She is trying so hard to keep us safe. All of us. That means testing the clones, to ensure that we remain protected. Her actions, though difficult to witness, are motivated by her duty to our people.”
‘That’s smart,’ Law-rah notes. ‘She’s painting Samara as a leader burdened by responsibility, someone who acts out of necessity rather than cruelty.’
The tension in the room continues to ebb, replaced by murmurs of understanding. Law-rah watches the Voice with something close to relief, gratitude. Her shoulders have eased slightly, and I can tell she feels the same faint hope I do.
“I agree,” more voices say. Females start coming into the center, lights flashing underneath their steps.
“Hi, Imaya,” Law-rah says, her fingers still twined with mine.
“Greetings, Laura.”
I drop my gaze. These are women of power, of status. Annoying them would no doubt worsen my situation.
A blonde woman moves to stand closest to Samara. Her eyes are sharp as she observes the scene, her gaze flicking to me, then to Law-rah, and back to Samara. She presses her lips together, as if she wants to say something but isn’t quite sure how to express it.
"Samara," she murmurs, voice soft but firm enough that even I can hear. "This… this may have gone too far. You’ve made your point. Perhaps now is the time to step back, to let the people process."
Prif Samara’s jaw tightens, and I can see the conflict in her eyes. She doesn’t respond, but I can tell her friend’s words have hit a nerve.
The Voice approaches her. "You should consider the optics, Samara," she murmurs, for only her to hear. "The females are watching every move you make, and this display walks a thin strand. If you push too hard, it could backfire. There’s already unease about how you’re handling the clones."
Another redhead, standing just behind her, nods in agreement, but her expression is more animated, eager even. She looks at Law-rah with bright eyes, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Perhaps this is the perfect moment to incorporate some of Earth’s legal principles," she suggests. "Concepts like ‘innocent until proven guilty’ and ‘burden of evidence.’ I think we should explore these further with you, Law-rah. Once you’ve recovered, of course.”
“It can only add legitimacy to the entire process,” Imaya says. “Females would welcome data-driven decisions."
The redhead presses on. "It would lend credibility to Olorian justice, wouldn’t it? Why not adopt these methods, especially for cases involving clones?"
Samara’s gaze narrows slightly, and I can tell she’s not delighted by the idea. But there’s a glimmer of consideration there, as though she’s weighing the possibility, testing its worth.
A spark in Imaya’s eyes borders on excitement, like she’s enjoying this whole twisted experiment.
"Fascinating, truly fascinating," she says, her voice a breathless murmur.
"The way she wielded the psychic power, with keen intent, it was all very instructive.
" Her eyes flick to me, assessing, cataloging.
“I never dreamed the Earth justice system would be so intense!” the redhead says.
I glance at Law-rah. ‘Is this how trials on Earth usually proceed?’
The peal of her laughter rings in the vaults of my mind. It sounds like freedom.
But it’s not over yet. Our attention turns to the Prif, Samara taking in her friends’ opinions. For a long moment, she’s silent, rigid, her face an unreadable mask, especially when she stares out at the crowd. A glimmer of silver waits on the periphery. The All-Mother herself.
Finally, the Prif speaks, her voice carrying across the hall with the kind of authority only she can wield.
"Very well," Samara announces, her gaze sweeping across the room, capturing every eye. "I declare from henceforth a new justice system will be developed and applied to clones.”
A ripple goes through the crowd, a mixture of surprise, murmurs of approval, some lingering unease.
Samara raises a hand. “As you can see, the test demonstrated the clone’s unwavering obedience. Under our own definitions, he is not a danger.”
I steal a glance at Law-rah, who looks as shocked as I feel. A part of me wants to be relieved, but I know better.
So does Law-rah. ‘There’s a calculation behind this decision, some angle we can’t quite see yet,’ she frets.
Samara continues, “Moreover, given the… new fashion for Selthiastock mates as protection against disease, there may be other surprises within clone abilities. I declare that the best way of finding these is to offer clones the chance to compete in their own mating games."
My ears buzz as if the ship I’m on is crash-landing into atmosphere, shaking me down to my bones.
This is huge.
The All-Mother comes forward, watching the Prif with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.
Samara’s friends exchange glances, and I see them each react differently.
The blonde nods, as if she can accept this compromise.
The Voice relaxes, clearly relieved that Samara took her advice.
The second redhead looks positively thrilled at the thought of integrating Earth’s justice principles, a spark of triumph in her eyes.
And Imaya, she smiles, as if everything has played out exactly as she wanted, like she’s eager to see what kind of results this next phase will yield.
The crowd continues to murmur, a low hum of reaction sweeping through the tiers.
‘Is this… the first ripple of something new for clones?’ I ask Law-rah.
‘The first little crack in the system,’ she agrees.
Samara watches me closely, her gaze sharp, calculating, as though she’s waiting for me to make a mistake. And I know, despite the newfound rights she’s promised, that this isn’t over. Not yet.
Beside me, Law-rah reaches out, her thumb brushing against my hand in the smallest, most discreet touch. It’s enough to steady me, to remind me why I’m here, why I endure.
For her.