Page 5

CHAPTER 5

SHOMUN

I yank my trousers up, the fabric scraping against my scales. My heart pounds, not from fear but from the sheer stupidity of the moment. Centuries of training, of subterfuge, and I let an untested human catch me like this—pants down, image inducer off, and my damn cock still half-hard.

Claire’s standing there, her green eyes wide, mouth still covered with that strip of tape I’d used to silence her earlier. I move before she can react, my hand snapping out to grab her by the throat. Her pulse thrums against my palm, rapid but steady. She doesn’t struggle.

“Why are you spying on me?” My voice rumbles low, a growl that would’ve sent most men running.

She tries to speak, but the tape muffles her words into unintelligible nonsense. Irritation flares—I’m the idiot here, not her. I rip the tape off, my claws catching just enough to make her wince.

“I wasn’t spying,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “I just—I heard something, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Bullshit. Her eyes dart to the scales on my arm, the faint ridges of my face. She’s lying, but not entirely. I release her throat, and her hand drifts up to rub the spot where I held her.

Her fingers brush my arm then, light but deliberate. She traces the pattern of my scales, her touch soft enough to make my skin ripple in response.

“They’re real,” she breathes, her voice a mix of awe and fear. Her hand lingers, and I don’t stop her.

Her gaze lifts to mine, and for the first time, I see no fear in her eyes. Just curiosity.

“You’re real. But…what are you?”

She says it like she’s piecing together a puzzle, one she didn’t even know she was solving.

Claire stands there, her eyes locked on mine, her breath shallow but steady. The air between us feels thick, charged with something I can’t quite name. Her fingers linger on my arm, tracing the edges of my scales like she’s trying to memorize them. I should stop her. Veritas protocol demands it. But I don’t.

“What I am takes time to explain,” I finally say, my voice low and controlled. The image inducer hums faintly as it reestablishes my human disguise, the hologram settling over my scales like a second skin. Simon Karr stares back at her, graying hair and all, but the tension doesn’t dissipate.

She swallows hard, her throat bobbing with the motion, and pulls her hand away like she’s been burned. “I guess,” she says slowly, her words careful, measured, “it doesn’t matter as much what you are as who you are.”

I growl, the sound rumbling deep in my chest. “Do not speak in riddles, human,” I snap, my patience fraying. “What are you asking of me?”

Her gaze doesn’t waver. If anything, it sharpens, like she’s seeing me for the first time—really seeing me. For a moment, I wonder if she’s as good at reading people as I thought she was during the interview. Or if she’s just reckless enough to push me.

“I want to know if you have, you know,” she starts, then hesitates, her cheeks flushing the faintest shade of pink. She swallows again, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Bad intentions.”

Her words hang in the air, and for a second, I’m thrown. My mind spirals into dangerous territory, imagining all the ways I could have bad intentions with her. The kind that would make her blush even harder if she knew what I was thinking. I force the thoughts down, locking them away. This isn’t the time.

“I am not here to hurt humanity,” I say firmly, my voice steady even as my pulse quickens. “In fact, I’m here to help.”

She doesn’t look convinced. Her eyes narrow slightly, and she crosses her arms over her chest, a defensive gesture that doesn’t quite match the curiosity in her gaze. “Help with what, exactly?”

I exhale sharply, my patience thinning. “That’s classified.”

“Classified?” she repeats, her tone laced with skepticism. “You’re a walking, talking classified document, and you’re expecting me to just take your word for it?”

I step closer, towering over her. She doesn’t back down, though. If anything, she tilts her chin up, like she’s daring me to intimidate her. It’s infuriating—and, I hate to admit, impressive.

“You signed a contract,” I remind her, my voice a low rumble. “You agreed to obey.”

Her lips part, a flicker of defiance in her eyes, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she nods slowly, like she’s conceding the point—but not the fight.

“I did,” she says quietly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m blind. Or stupid.”

I stare down at her, my mind racing. Veritas protocol demands I erase her memory or lock her up, but the thought of doing either makes my stomach churn. And not just because of the risk.

“Claire,” I say her name softly, almost a warning. “This isn’t a game. The things I deal with—the things you’ve stumbled into—they’re dangerous. You don’t understand what’s at stake.”

She doesn’t flinch. “Then explain it to me.”

I bark out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “You’re not cleared for that.”

Her eyes flash, and she takes a step closer, closing the distance between us.

“Well, maybe you should clear me,” she says, her voice firm. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Not until I get answers.”

The audacity of it—the sheer brazenness—catches me off guard. And then, before I can stop her, she reaches out, her fingers brushing the edge of my holographic disguise. Her touch is light, tentative, but it sends a jolt through me.

“Answers,” she repeats. “Or I start making some very loud phone calls.”

I grab her wrist, halting her movement, and her breath hitches again. My grip isn’t tight enough to hurt, but it’s firm enough to make her look up at me, her green eyes wide.

“Very well,” I say, not releasing her wrist. My voice is low, edged with the kind of authority that doesn’t leave room for debate. “I will attempt to explain it to you. But first, I must make sure you are not carrying concealed listening devices.”

She blinks up at me, her green eyes wide with something between indignation and panic. “You still don’t trust me?”

I snort, my lips curling into a sneer. “I trust one person in the entire galaxy.” My grip tightens just enough to make her flinch. “You’re looking at him.”

Claire doesn’t argue. She doesn’t fight. She lets me guide her to the glass wall of my office, her heels clicking against the polished floor. The city sprawls below us, a patchwork of neon lights and shadows. I release her wrist and step back, folding my arms across my chest.

“Hands on the glass,” I command, my voice sharp. “And spread your legs.”

She freezes for a moment, her back stiffening. Then, slowly, she complies. Her palms press against the cool surface, fingers splayed like she’s trying to steady herself. She shifts her weight, her feet sliding apart. The movement is hesitant, almost shy, but she does it.

“What are you doing, Sir?” Her voice is soft, trembling with a mix of fear and something else—something I can’t quite place. Anticipation? Eagerness? It’s maddening.

“I am about to reveal secrets which could level mountains,” I say, my tone clipped. “I must ensure you are not going to record what I say in any fashion.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her shoulders relaxing as her eyes squeeze shut.

“I understand, Sir,” she murmurs. “And I will obey.”

Damnation. My cock throbs at her words, heavy and insistent, and I grit my teeth. This isn’t the time. I force my attention back to the task at hand, stepping closer until I’m right behind her. My hands hover for a moment, then I start the search.

My palms glide along her arms first, slow and deliberate. The fabric of her blouse is smooth under my touch, but her heat exudes through the silken fabric. She tenses as I move inward, her breath quickening when my hands find her waist. Her chest rises and falls in a rhythm that matches my own pounding heartbeat.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. Focus, Shomun. This is business, not pleasure. I slide my hands down her hips, then back up, my fingers splayed to cover as much ground as possible. If she’s carrying Grolgath tech, I’ll find it. Their devices are subtle, but they’re not invisible.

I glance up to see her reflection in the glass. Her eyes are still closed, her lips parted just enough to let out soft, uneven breaths. Her cheeks are flushed, her skin glowing in the dim light. I can’t tell if it’s fear or something else that’s making her react like this, but it’s distracting.

“Stay still,” I growl, my voice rougher than I intend. My hands move lower, skimming the curve of her hips and down her thighs. Her skirt clings to her legs, the fabric whispering against my palms. She’s trembling now, her fingers twitching against the glass.

“Sir,” she whispers, and there’s that tone again—that mix of fear and something else. It’s driving me mad.

“Quiet,” I snap, though my voice lacks its usual edge. My hands move back up, skimming the sides of her torso and tracing the curve of her ribs. She’s soft, warm, and every inch of her feels like a distraction I don’t need right now.

My hands glide back up her legs, the fabric of her skirt whispering against my palms. She’s trembling, her breath hitching as I reach the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Her gasp is sharp, her body flinching involuntarily. I don’t stop. I can’t. Not yet.

“Hold still,” I snap, my voice low and commanding. My hand comes down on her backside with a sharp crack , the sound echoing in the quiet office. She sucks in a ragged breath, her moan escaping before she can stifle it. Her hips press back into me, and I feel the heat of her through the layers of fabric. My cock throbs in response, and I grit my teeth, forcing myself to focus.

My hands move up her torso, skimming the curve of her waist, the dip of her ribs. She’s clean—I know she is. No Grolgath tech, no hidden devices. But I don’t stop. I can’t. Not yet. My fingers brush the underside of her breasts, and her breath stops entirely. I hesitate, my own breathing uneven, my heart pounding in my chest. This is a line. A major one. And I’ve just crossed it.

Her response isn’t what I expect. She doesn’t pull away, doesn’t protest. Instead, she arches her back, pressing her bottom into my crotch with a deliberate, almost defiant motion. Her hands stay on the glass, her fingers splayed wide, but her body speaks volumes. She’s crossed a line of her own, and she’s daring me to follow.

I drop one hand from her breast, letting it trail down her stomach, past the waistband of her skirt. My fingers brush the soft skin of her inner thigh, and she shudders, her breath coming in shallow gasps. I’m so close, so damn close, when the door buzzes.

“Your Six AM meeting is here, Sir,” Miranda’s voice crackles over the intercom, sharp and businesslike.

I freeze, my hand hovering just above the heat of her. Claire’s body goes rigid, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, neither of us moves. Then I step back, my hands falling to my sides. The image inducer hums faintly as it reestablishes my human disguise, the hologram settling over my scales like a second skin.

“Clean yourself up,” I say, my voice rough. “And be ready to work.”

She doesn’t respond, her hands still pressed against the glass. I turn away, my jaw clenched, and head for the door. My cock aches, my body screaming for release, but I force it down. This isn’t the time. Not yet.