Chapter 31 #3
In the memory, Arture stands in a corner, staring at her. His body stays still apart from the trembling of his fists, trying to hold onto the last shreds of his autonomy.
“She woke up,” my Arture says at last, his tone fragile. “She looked right at me, and it… it felt wrong to stand there as someone else, someone she loved. I shifted back, even though I knew I wasn’t supposed to show anyone a Samarastock, so my head pounded. And she said—”
“Hello,” the female says, her voice warm, addressing the memory of Arture.
He stumbles forward.
She chuckles weakly. “Well, if it isn’t Arture. Alpha, our first one.”
“She knew you?” I whisper to my Arture.
He sinks into a sitting position, elbows braced on his knees, and buries his face in his hands. “Yes. She did.”
The female coughs, a wracking, horrible wet sound.
I wince and start forward to help her, but my hands pass through smoke, and the memory fades. “Oops.”
Arture shakes his head. “Only you, Nic-coal, would try to help a memory.” He closes his eye again, bunching his fists, and the bed reappears.
The female asks, “Would you help me, please?”
The memory Arture grabs a bag of orange stuff in a clear bag, and puts it behind her back to help her sit up.
The female sinks into it with a groan. “Thank you. It seems as though you do and don’t remember me. Is that right, Alpha?”
“I… I…” Arture shakes his head.
“I’m not surprised you don’t remember much.
I’m Katyen Al Aura, one of the researchers on Prif Samara’s personal program.
I shared her… outlook, for a time. The sheer mass of clones was dangerous to all females, if only because of numbers, and we were asked to trust one singular female who had already proved herself untrustworthy.
Shara was meant to make mindless drones, not free-thinking individuals; her army was a terrible development for our lasting safety. ”
My Arture rubs his chin. “Hm, she’s got a point.”
I nudge his shoulder. “It doesn’t justify the way the Prif’s treated you, or any of the clones, at all. You were condemned before you’d even committed a single crime.”
Arture tilts his head, then nods.
Katyen continues in a warbling voice, “Samara wanted to design her own clone type. She faked the loss of a batch of eggs and brought you all to me. The All-Mother is your biological mother, but I am one of your… shapers. I delivered what the Prif wanted.”
Her veiny hands screw up the thin coverlet. “And I was forced to watch as my work, you, were subjected to more and more tests, each designed to test the loyalty I had bred into you. Samara didn’t trust me, either. She had to add her own layers of control. Very quickly, I came to see it as torture.”
My heart shatters into pieces as numerous as the grains of sand outside. “Oh, Arture.”
His hand trembling in mine is the only sign of how much he’s fighting to remember, to sort it out, to process it. The memory around us sharpens, Katyen’s face becoming clear, from the lines around her eyebrows to the milky-white glaze on her scales.
“I couldn’t bear to see what she was doing to you all, but especially you, Arture. The first prototype. She tortured you the most. I quit the program, but I knew the Prif would come for me at some point.” She smiles in triumph, as if she’d won. “Fortunately, natural causes will get there first.”
I swallow hard, blinking back my own tears as I watch the memory play out.
The other Arture buckles in half, holding his head and grinding his teeth.
Katyen reaches for him, her hand falling limp on the bed. “Alpha, you’re under her compulsion. Don’t fight it for my sake, please.”
The memory version fights to get his arm under control. It raises over his head, and he struggles to bring it back to his hip.
“The override,” Arture beside me murmurs. “I… I was close to disobeying, I—”
“No, I can’t do this!” Arture shouts. He flails, smashing into a wall, and he braces as if to push it over. Or keep himself in place.
He smacks his head against it repeatedly, each thunk low and hard.
“Stop that, Alpha,” Katyen snaps, and Arture slides to the floor, chest heaving. The look he gives her, desperate, frightened, tears my heart to shreds.
Katyen smiles sadly. “There’s nothing to be done. I should have taken you with me when I had the chance, but I didn’t. I kept wondering if she’d see what she was doing to you and stop. You see, she needs you the most, Alpha.”
My Arture’s breathing becomes ragged. The memory wavers around the edges, threatening to splinter.
I squeeze his hand. “I’m here. You can do this.”
“Nic-coal, I…I don’t want you to see. I don’t know what happens next, I don’t want to—”
The memory Arture stands, moves in jerky strides to the bed. My Arture goes to stand behind him, bowing his head as he puts a hand on his past self’s shoulder.
Katyen smiles up at him. “You’re her first, her best. The most loyal, perfect clone.”
A tear slips down my Arture’s cheek.
“I regret what I did. I’m sorry,” Katyen whispers. “The Selthiastocks try to keep me alive, but I’m done. Give me what you have, and I’ll take it, Alpha.”
With a jerky motion as if fighting himself, Arture pulls the vial from his pocket and presses it in Katyen’s palm.
She kisses his hand. “Thank you. You have fulfilled every one of my expectations, Alpha.” She tosses the vial back, and returns it to Arture, cupping his hands in hers.
I blink awake in the real world, and throw my arms around Arture. “You didn’t kill her, Arture.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“And you were fighting back against the Prif even without me.”
“Yes, although I forgot each time and had to start from the beginning again.”
“You rescued yourself. You didn’t have a choice then. But now, you do.”
“And I choose to protect you. No matter what.” He leans toward me. “Do you… are you happy with me touching you? After all you've learned about me?”
"Arture," I whisper, holding his gaze steady, acknowledging the pain simmering in his eye. But it doesn’t scare me. The fact he’s opening to it, processing it, is huge. "I trust you."
His hands hover in the space between us, flexing into fists, as if he’s afraid of breaking me. Or himself. "That’s not what I asked, Nic-coal. Do you want me to touch you?"
I take his hands, both the metal one and the flesh one, and rein him toward me. The coolness of the mechanical arm contrasts sharply with the warmth of his other hand. Both unmistakably his. I press them against my waist and step closer, until there’s no distance left between us.
"Does this answer your question?"
His breath catches, his lips parting slightly. His eyes search mine, and his hands tighten against me.
I reach up, threading my fingers into his hair, along the gold strands of metal there. "Listen to me, and kiss me."
His lips crash into mine, desperate and unguarded, like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as I have. His kiss is as raw and consuming as the man himself, and I lose myself in it, in him, in the way he holds me like I’m the only thing keeping him from breaking apart completely.
It’s messy and imperfect, but it’s us. And that's perfect for me.
His lips turn softer, as if he’s savoring my taste, memorizing the feel of me. Every touch, every caress, leaves goosebumps down my skin. He brings his palms to my neck and strokes his thumbs on the lines of my jaw, and I hang onto his forearms. How can hands that big be so soft and gentle?
I melt under his touch. My heart surges, hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to break free.
He holds me close, grounding me and igniting me all at once.
I don’t know which sensation to focus on: the cool, smooth metal of his mechanical arm firm at my waist, or the heat of his flesh-and-blood hand burning through the fabric of my shirt.
It’s like he’s trying to memorize me with his touch, every movement full of tension and restraint. Is he afraid I might pull away?
But I don’t. I can't.
Instead, I press closer, clutching at him like he’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the ground.
It’s beautiful, and I accept that I don’t want him to stop. His scent, faintly metallic, floods my senses, and it’s intoxicating. My knees feel weak, but his arms keep me steady, like he’d never let me fall.
As his lips finally part from mine, he holds me close, his eye lingering on my face. His fingers glide over the dusty fabric of my wrap. Slowly, he unpeels the dress from my shoulders, kissing each inch he exposes. Molten desire flows through me with each of his touches, each press of his lips.
“Arture,” I murmur. “No screaming this time.”
“Let them hear you. Let them know what I'm doing to you in here.” He rips the gossamer from my torso, tearing open the folds around my waist and hips.
A thrill sparks through me, but practicality wins out. “Don’t rip my riding t-shirt, please. I need it.”
“I’ll make you another,” he says, flashing me a cheeky grin.
“With what?”
“I’m very resourceful, you should know that by now.” His hands rove up my back, bumping over the bottles. “And so are you. Are these all sedatives?”
“Yes, but we’re talking clothes right now. If you can’t find anything, I’ll have to run around bare ass naked.”
“Mm. I fail to see the problem. Except I’ll have to knock out Juran and Ezla, and every other male in a mile radius, just in case they even think about looking at you.
” He ducks lower, rolling my t-shirt and kissing up my stomach to my breasts.
His lips close over my nipple, and I can’t help but let out a gasp.
He guides the shirt over my head and drops it onto the floor behind us, guiding me back onto the sofa and laying me down like precious treasure.