Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
My eyes are still heavy with sleep when I hear Starcroft's voice cut through the last remnants of my dreams of home.
“Exciting news!” he chirps as he whirls the bedspread off my body. My arms coil around my torso at the loss of heat.
“Unless that exciting news is more sleep, count me out,” I groan, rolling onto my stomach as I bury my face into the plush, oversized mattress.
“You've had more than the required eight hours of sleep my database says human beings need. Do I need to amend that?” The concern in his little digital voice makes me feel guilty.
“No, it's fine…” I sigh, flipping back over to see Starcroft hovering above me, holding what looks like a figure-hugging dress.
The creamy white fabric looks almost like spandex.
There are cutouts over the waistline, held together by a ruby circlet, that remind me of the blue and white dress from Pretty Woman, but this one is floor-length with a deeper neckline.
“What's this?” I ask, brow arched.
“I made it for you!” Starcroft’s digital eyes shift to simulated joy.
“How do you even know what size I am?”
“I measured you in your sleep,” he says proudly.
“Hey, don't do things when I'm not awake, okay? I want to know what's happening to me.” My eyes narrow, and a dull ache blooms in my chest.
“Oh. Okay,” he says simply. “Do you like it?”
“Depends. What's the occasion?”
“Well, in an effort to make your mating ceremony more comfortable, I researched human mating traditions and asked Warlord Mekkra if I could make you the white dress I've read of. Though most of the examples seemed far more covered up than you like.”
Starcroft, I assume, is referencing my bubble dancer uniform as an example of the level of modesty I prefer, and a laugh claws up my throat before I can stop it—sharp, breathless, completely out of place.
I bite down on it hard, lips pressing together as my fingers twitch at the edge of the fabric clinging to my skin.
Yeah. Because I definitely picked that.
But the giggle is cut short.
“Mating ceremony,” I say morosely.
“Well, that's not right away. There's the formal inspection. That begins shortly.”
“Inspection?” The word crawls under my skin.
“It is required as part of Drefling mating customs. The male Drefling is required to observe the potential mate throughout a variety of situations.”
Required. Not asked. Not agreed to. Just another thing being done to me.
“What kind of situations?” I bite the inside of my lip.
“I'm not sure, but Warlord Mekkra will be here soon, and I'm sure all will be revealed.”
And as if the cheerful robot summoned the beast, Mekkra's hulking form enters the room, his body blocking all light from the hall.
Without acknowledge me or Starcroft, he sits grumpily in one of the oversized chairs across the room. He's topless, as usual. I'm sure it has to do with how hard it would be to dress his spines. But his legs are clad in cropped leather-looking breeches.
“You seem like you're in a great mood, honey.” I lay my distaste on thick.
He doesn't even look at me.
“I'm ready to get this over with—to be mated.” When he finally looks at me, it's with anger—and something else simmering just beneath the surface. I can't quite place it, but it looks like unease.
“Romantic,” I sigh, standing at the edge of my mattress. I glance at Starcroft, still ecstatic over his creation, then back to the uneasy alien. Despite my sarcasm, despite my fear of what comes next, my body chooses acceptance as the trauma response of the day.
I slip the silly dress over my head, before padding over closer to my new captor.
Maybe my brain is damaged from all the space travel or the weird gruel I've been fed these past few years, but I don't have any fight left in me.
There might be a chance that after our mating ceremony he'll leave me alone…
and for the times he doesn't, Lord knows I can dissociate with the best of them.
And I feel it when that last bit of hope inside me breaks.
“So, what do we do now?”
The gauze dress is just sheer enough that I know he can see my nakedness underneath when his eyes linger a little too long on my middle. He coughs and stands.
If he wasn't in such a foul mood, he could have stared all he wanted before I was dressed.
“Traditionally, I bathe you.”
“I just had a bath yesterday. Can't we skip that?”
“No. You misunderstand. I bathe you as part of bringing you into my home. I wash away your old life so you may come free and clear into our matehood.” The warlord's hand curls into a tight fist at his side.
“Oh,” I mutter, realization sinking in.
“I'll draw the bath,” the chipper robot says, laying my wedding dress out on the bed before zooming into the en suite.
That leaves Mekkra and me alone, standing straight and staring at each other.
Despite the silence, something crackles between us. Numbness for me—anger as usual for him. Still, something is off, something I can’t quite put my finger on. He's not like the other aliens I've been sent to entertain—hell, he's the opposite of that slimy slug Quldo.
It's like he's constantly holding himself back.
“Starcroft said you wouldn't hurt me… or rape me.” The second word comes out softer, but I keep my eyes locked on his.
“I won't,” he whispers.
I wait for him to come scoop me up, but he doesn’t touch me.
That’s what makes it worse—because it means every second of distance is deliberate. Chosen.
I gulp, forcing my anxiety down to get this Drefling inspection period over with.
“Well, let's not let that water get cold.” I turn on my heel and head for the already steaming bathroom.
I hear his heavy, padded footsteps behind me. I quickly shuck off my gauzy blue dress and start to step into the water. His broad, furry hand stops me, nearly spanning my entire midsection. I freeze stock-still, every hair on my body standing at attention.
“No.” His voice is low as he gathers me up in his arms. He's so different from yesterday—every movement careful, almost trepidatious. He pulls me against him, one hand under my ass, the other cradling my shoulders.
I don't dare speak as he steps into the bath, but I can't stop myself from shaking.
“I-I won't hurt you, Mae. I've told you that.” As my body floats up from his grip, he turns me so my back rests against his chest. One hand settles low on my belly, claws barely pricking my skin. The other drags through my long blonde hair and lets it fall down my chest.
I hear him dispense something into his free hand, but I keep my eyes lowered, watching my breasts bob in and out of the water.
He works soap into my scalp, using his knuckles and keeping his claws curled tightly inward as he massages my hair.
“You have much less fur than females of my kind. This won't take as long as it normally would,” he murmurs near my ear.
“Why a human and not one of your own?” The words escape before I can stop them. I brace for his anger.
“Because I'm considered untouchable by my people,” he says evenly.
“Oh,” is all I manage.
“I broke certain laws to obtain what I have now and have lived too long unmated. Females where I'm from wouldn't dare bind themselves to me.” He sounds… sad.
“Lucky me—” I mutter, cutting myself off when his claws press just a bit deeper into my stomach.
“And your alternative life is so much better?” he snaps, suddenly dunking my head underwater. I inhale hot, soapy water involuntarily and choke when I resurface.
“Fu-fuck you!” I sputter.
“What's the best-case scenario for you if I left you with the Deenz?
To dance for unworthy males until your body breaks and they ship you off to a slave colony?
Am I so horrible that you'd rather be worked to death than live here with me?” He's yelling now, and as badly as I want to flee, I don’t dare test the sharpness of his claws.
Instead, I twist just enough to see his seething face.
“Why don't you just drown me and find someone else? You promised you wouldn't hurt me!”
His expression collapses. He pushes me away slowly. I grab the nearest ledge, coughing up the water I inhaled, sputtering onto the tile as my eyes burn. When a heavy palm settles on my shoulder, I flinch.
His hand on my body isn’t comfort.
It’s remorse—and that scares me more than anger ever could.
“I'm running out of time. I don't know how much of my mind will be left if I wait any longer. I'm—sorry.”
The word sorry sounds foreign on his lips, and I bite back something sharp.
“Is enough of your mind left to keep your promises?” I ask.
“I hope so. Come.” He guides me back into position, rinsing the soap from my hair with careful hands. I flinch at nearly every movement anyway.
“How do you wish to proceed?” he asks.
“Are we done?”
“As part of the bathing ritual, I must cleanse all your fur.”
“Okay… so done?” I frown, confused.
“You have fur over your cunt, Mae.”
He says my name like it's a kindness, a choice he's made. But a shudder runs up my spine all the same.
Warlord Mekkra wants to wash my cunt fur.