Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
She was glorious. Her skin held the dewy flush of a well-loved female. Her hair, darkened by sweat, fanned on the pillow. There was perfection in that moment. He knew with certainty that Calinae was his female and she had accepted him as her male. No matter what. It was done.
Then, between her pale gold eyes, a frown began to form. Her gaze went sharp on his eyes. The softness of her expression tightened.
He knew it was happening. He couldn’t feel it yet, but the look on her face told him he had lost the fight.
Immediately, the glowing satisfaction he’d been luxuriating in vanished. He jerked away from her and looked at his arms. They were still normal, but dread coiled in his gut. He immediately began to take inventory of his faculties. “What is it?” he asked her. “What do you see?”
“Y-your eyes.” She got up to her knees. There was no fear in her face, only concern. “They’re usually gray, but they look… Maybe I’m imagining it?”
He closed his eyes, then opened them. Sure enough, a thin red film covered his vision. “You’re not.” His voice was grim as he turned away from her. “I am sorry, Calinae.”
He heard her padding over to him. “Don’t apologize for something out of your control.”
He ran a hand through his hair. No horns yet. “I should have control,” he said. “But this was bound to happen, eventually. You make me…”
“Agitated?” she supplied.
He frowned and turned back to her. “No. Excited. Aroused. Hungry.”
“Oh.” A pleased smile curved her lips. “You do those things to me, too.”
“Lovely,” he said dryly. “But you don’t turn into a raging monster who destroys everything you touch when you’re ‘excited.’”
She shrugged, seemingly bored with his reasoning. “No one’s perfect.”
He guffawed out a chuckle at her astounding reply.
He couldn’t argue with it. Didn’t have a chance to, either, as his screens lit up with an alert.
He picked up the one next to the bed and read it.
“It’s time,” he said quietly. “You are supposed to change into the clothes the warlord has sent for you.”
He escorted her to her room next door for the simple reason that his time with her was running out. He didn’t want to miss one moment of it. Once the transformation took hold, chances were high that he wouldn’t change back.
Niir let out a sound of—yes, this time—agitation and watched as she opened her wardrobe. All of her clothing was gone. In their place was one garment, hanging on a clear form.
She took it out, then looked up at him in confusion. “This is awful. I have to wear this dress?”
Calling it a dress was extremely generous.
It was an elaborate piece of full-body jewelry.
Worse, he recognized this getup as the same style all wives of the warlord were required to wear.
Her breasts would be exposed, pushed up by a molded gold form that would support the undersides of her breasts and force her nipples skyward.
A narrow corset constricted the waist. More gold chains hung from that, doing little to conceal her lush bottom and sweet pink sex.
His hands curled into fists as impotent rage sliced through him. “You do,” he ground out.
Her hand closed on his arm. “You should go, Niir. I don’t want you to see me in this.”
“But I will anyway.” He felt as if he were drowning. “I must watch you wear the dress of another who thinks he has rights to you. I will stand by as you walk to him, turn yourself over to him.”
“Temporarily,” she added.
He tipped his forehead down to hers. “Calinae, if anything happens to you, I will destroy Warlord Mek-la, his ship, and probably a good portion of the Sintra-1 space station. I vow it.”
There was a pause. “Stars. Really?”
He grimaced. “Too much?”
She leaned back and took his face between her hands. Her touch felt cool, an indicator that he was heating up. He had time, yet. Enough to get through this mission to see to her freedom, barely. Hopefully.
“Just…be there for me.” Tears shone in her eyes, making his heart ache. “When this is over, you’re the one I want, Niir. Glowing red eyes and horns included if need be.”
Niir kissed her forehead, then stepped away. There was no way to explain how impossible this relationship would be. As it was, he was always on guard against the primal form; always warding it off with meditation, or language studies, or working in his position as Trak’s communications officer.
He knew that there would come a time when he would lose himself to it, as some mercenaries had.
Those Virilians wandered the desert of their home planet, consumed by their fire, madness, and pointless rage.
Their lives did not end well as they slowly burned out into the sands.
It was the fate Niir most feared for himself.
It was worse than any injury, worse than dying.
And here it was, winning. He strode through the corridors to the command deck where Trak was waiting for him.
“Bloody bad timing, mate,” Trak groused after taking one look at his red eyes. “This makes a complicated situation even harder.”
“You are aware,” Niir drawled, “that we don’t choose when the primal form emerges.”
“I am aware, but I am still permitted to lament how unfortunate it is that yours chose now to make an appearance.” He scratched his chin, gazing consideringly at Niir. “We will have to work this into the equation somehow.”
“We’ll be wearing helmets,” said Niir. “No one will see my eyes.”
“Until it melts off your head.”
Niir nodded. “Yes. But by then it won’t matter. We should be done with our business at Sintra-1.”
“Hopefully. Then what do we do with you?” Trak planted his hands on his hips. “This ship isn’t designed for a Virilian in a primal state.”
Niir closed his eyes. “One crisis at a time, please.”
“Fine with me. All this thinking is giving me a headache.” Trak strode to his console, which was frantically displaying messages.
“Where is Pizol?” Niir asked, expecting to see the first officer on the command deck.
“Waiting for us by the transport,” replied Trak.
“He and Yanc have been testing the transmitters.” He frowned at the screen, tapped something, and the display went dark.
Trak looked up. His face was serious and determined, revealing the prince that lay beneath the veneer of—reformed—space pirate.
“We’re here, old man. Let’s get this done. ”