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…the least he can do is pass me some clothes, right?

“Daccia?” I call through the door. “Can you hand me something to cover myself?”

The door hisses open an inch – and Daccia’s huge hand slides through, passing me a fluffy towel through the gap. It’s clearly designed for an Aurelian, as it’s big enough to cover three of me.

I wrap the towel around myself. The cotton is deliciously soft and caresses my body as I arrange it into a makeshift dress. When I’m finally covered up, I open the door to the shower and step into the bedroom – dry, warm, and ready to face my adversary.

Daccia is standing across the bedroom from me. The Aurelian looms over me – tall, noble, and dignified. He’s staring at me with his intense eyes.

I wonder:How smart is Daccia?

If he's survived this long in the universe, he can't be stupid – not unless he's got enough brutal combat experience that he’s learned to survive on his strength alone.

Ineedto know who I'm dealing with. I remember one of the unusual quotes I’d read in all those Aurelian Law documents – a quote from a human; the general Sun Tzu. While most humans are regarded as little more than children by Aurelians, a few have proven worthy of respect and acknowledgement. For example, Sun Tzu’sThe Art of the Waris required reading for Aurelians prior to entering their hundred years of service.

Know your enemy, and you need not fear the outcome of a hundred battles.

I need to know Daccia.

Fortunately, manipulating Aurelians is something I’ve apparently demonstrated an aptitude for – which, ironically enough, has resulted in my current predicament.

I think strategically. Daccia might be able to sense my emotions, but I can also sense his. Even though the door, I couldfeelhis wounded pride and the shame he bears for violating his people’s law.

Daccia stands like a statue across the bed from me. He’s standing ‘military still’ – like the guards I read about in the Old-Earth texts, who guarded a place called ‘Buckingham Palace’ and weren’t allowed to move despite whatever visitors and tourists did to distract them.

Daccia’s poise reminds me that every adult Aurelian spends one hundred years in military service for their Empire – thrown into near-constant battle against the worst threats that exist in the universe. Smugglers, crime-lords, Toad insurgents…

…and the Scorp.

I shudder just at the word.

Scorp are huge, half-reptile, half-mammalianthingsthat prey on humanity. If Daccia and his triad have faced Scorp in battle – and survived the experience – I’m surprised if there’s anything that could scare them.

After our rough mating, Daccia has changed back into his workout clothes. I’d actually been half-expecting him to be in the armor-plating of his official Law Enforcement uniform. The fact that he’s not wearing that gear while on duty – speaking to a prisoner, no less – is another clue that he’s feeling the shame of betraying his duty.

I can’t help but admire Daccia as he stands there in his workout clothes. His tight t-shirt showcases those huge biceps and his strong, bulging chest muscles, while his thin shorts end just above his tree-trunk thighs.

Daccia’s holding bland, grey clothing in his hands. I recognize them as a prisoner’s uniform.

Matching the color of the clothes he carries, Daccia’s eyes have almost returned to their usual slate-grey – although they still have the slightest glint of diamond beneath the dullness.

The physical changes triggered by the Bond must weaken between couplings – but I somehow sense they’ll never completely disappear. What occurred between us – the Bond we’ve forged – is permanent.

“Allie,” Daccia says coolly. “Please sit. We have a lot to talk about.”

I look at the bed, but don’t sit on it. Nervousness is creeping up inside of me. Instead, I favor Daccia with a smile.

Inside, I have fear and stress bubbling up like a hot spring – and I know he can sense it in my aura – but there’s no reason not to give him a smile, to make Daccia think I’m on his side.

“Are those for me?” I ask, motioning to the drab clothes. “Am I still a prisoner?”

Daccia tosses the clothes to me, and I deftly grab them in mid-air. They’re stiff and thick in my hands, unlike the soft towel I have wrapped around me.

Prisoners can’t expect to gettoocomfortable, I guess.

“Could you turn around?”

I’m not shy – and I understand the irony of hiding my nakedness from a man who spurted his cum deep inside me just an hour earlier.