Page 134 of Border Control

This big kind alien slipped through my borders and now he's all I want. All I've ever needed. He's perfect for me.

“Saving yourself?” Samara's tone is accusing. “What does that mean?”

“I… I'm a virgin. Saving myself for… one special guy.” I lift my chin. Now I’ve found him. I won't be intimidated by her.

I look up at my gentle giant. “Dom, fuck me.”

He sucks in a breath. His scales can't seem to settle on a color, moving from pale pastel purple to peach.

I set my hand on his chest. “Let's get those chains off you.”

As I touch the manacles, they spring free. I grip his arm as he’s released, the weight of him sagging briefly before he stands straight again, his scales clammy under my fingers.

I support him as best I can, swallowing down the anger threatening to boil over. He shouldn’t have to go through this. He shouldn’t have to endure any of this.

Samara seems fascinated by my admission. “You're untouched?”

“I wouldn't say that,” I mutter. “I've probably done everything else at least once, and sometimes upside down. But I wanted to keep something special for myself, to share with the man I love.”

So maybe I'm a romantic, too.

Dom and I really are perfect for each other.

Samara’s voice rings out, cutting through the quiet. “Dom,” she says, her gaze sharp and glinting with malice. “Take her now, in front of everyone here. Follow her orders and mine.”

My stomach twists, a surge of panic mingling with fury. She’s trying to humiliate me. This isn’t solely about Dom proving anything, this is about breaking us both.

The tension in the room coils tighter, the spectators holding their breath, eager for the next twist in this grotesque spectacle.

I glance at Dom, see the conflict in his eyes. He understands exactly what Samara’s trying to do. His jaw tightens, his expression hardening into a defiance that even his exhaustion can’t hide.

“No,” he says, his voice steady, unwavering.

Samara’s eyes narrow. She raises an eyebrow, her tone dripping with challenge. “You refuse a direct order from me?”

Dom doesn’t hesitate, his gaze locked on her, unblinking. “Yes. I refuse.”

Samara’s mouth twists into a sneer. “So you’re not under control at all.” She raises her hand, gesturing to the guards. “Arrest him.”

The Parthiastocks move toward him, their faces blank masks as they prepare to follow her orders. A swell of desperation rises up inside me, my instincts screaming at me to protect him, to do something, anything.

I step in front of Dom, putting myself squarely in their path. “Then arrest me too.”

The guards falter.

My heart races, but I don’t back down. “This is a mockery of your court,” I say, my voice clear and loud, cutting through the thick silence. “Prif Samara has turned this into a show. A cruel spectacle for your own amusement. This follows no laws or precedence, nothing you said your justice was built on. Just as I thought, your laws are swayed by her desires.”

My words ripple through the room, stirring the watching crowd. Faces shift, whispers rising, murmurs of scandal flitting from one person to the next.

I look to them, dark shadowy figures who've just watched this all play out like Saturday night entertainment. “If there’s anyone you should be questioning, it’s not him. It’s the Prif. She’s the one abusing her power here, not a clone.”

The crowd shifts again, the whispering growing louder, turning into a low murmur that fills the room. Some of them are looking at each other, nodding, their expressions torn between shock and escalating outrage.

Dom’s hand comes up, brushing against my shoulder, a silent gesture of gratitude. I can feel his exhaustion radiating off him, but there’s a spark of something else in his eyes, something that matches the fire in my own chest.

Taking his hand, I step forward, addressing the room with every ounce of conviction I have. “This is supposed to be a courtof law. Yet here we are, witnessing nothing but manipulation and abuse. Is this what justice looks like to you?”

More murmurs ripple through the females, the tension shifting, splintering. The Prif’s authority, once so absolute, now feels precarious, teetering on the edge. The weight of what we’re fighting against feels less daunting, as though the crowd itself is starting to see the injustice laid bare before them.