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Chapter Seven

A erie

Less than fifteen minutes later, I’ve thrown everything I need into my pillowcase. Some of the women on the ship loaned me t-shirts and leggings, I wound up with the uber-hideous purple flip-flops with the chartreuse eyes, “Just in case,” Dahlia told me with a smile as she added them to my bag.

Of course the Louboutins and gray business suit, aka my armor, are neatly folded on top.

While I was packing I had time to think things through. I ran to the ludus and grabbed a toga, some of the things that cover the legs from ankle to knee, a chest plate, and the perfect helmet—it covers the face and even the nose, with holes only for eyes and mouth. It will camouflage Beast.

I swung by the kitchen to snag the cake, but Beast was already there cajoling some other sweet treat out of Maddie.

Stryker caught us in the hallway and pressed a half-full bottle of Sillerian whiskey into Beast’s hand. “In case the small space makes you crazy,” he said. “I admit, I already ate the worm,” he shrugs.

Worm? I don’t even want to ask. Well, maybe later.

Willa, hauling an armful of blankets and sheets, meets us near the pod. Of course, WarDog is ever-faithfully by her side.

“Call us if you need anything, honey,” she says with reassurance, although there is absolutely nothing she could do to help if something goes wrong. WarDog slurps my hand, one of his sharp razor-sharp teeth grazes my palm. How does Willa deal with this?

Braxxus hurries in, does a serious visual inspection. “Pre-flight checkup,” he informs us, then punches in the coordinates. After double-checking them, he steps out and dangles an electronic device from his fingertips as if he doesn’t want to touch it.

It’s a pain/kill collar.

“If the fiction is that he’s your slave, he’ll need one of these. It’s deactivated.”

The best moment of my life was when mine was removed from my neck shortly after we arrived on board the Fool , and I only wore it for a day. Born a slave, I can’t imagine Beast is enthused to have to wear one again.

“It’s odious, I know,” Braxxus says matter-of-factly as he hands it to Beast. “Don’t forget to put it on before you step out of the pod. Aerie, the wrist-comm you’re wearing is fine. It would work as a controller if the collar was activated and will give the appearance you’re his owner.

“Beast, sit in the chair. Aerie, get on his lap. Belt in together. As soon as that light turns green, you’re free to move about the cabin—if there’s room. I already showed you how to hail us. Don’t hesitate to call, day or night. It can get spooky in the middle of space in a vehicle this small.”

Did he just predict we’re going to go crazy? Really, he didn’t have to do that. I think we’re perfectly capable of getting terrified and going insane on our own.

A moment later, we’re belted in. I’m so much shorter than Beast, my head rests on his strong, wide chest. I feel his heart thumping underneath me.

The engine whirs with such force I feel it vibrating through the machine, through Beast’s solid body, and into my cells. The pod breaks free, and we’re jettisoned into space.

Braxxus was right. It’s scary out here. Silent except for the low thrum of the motor, which has quieted since we took off. If I think about it too long, I just might lose my shit. A million things can go wrong, and no one is coming to save us. Even if they did, they’d never reach us in time.

I push those thoughts out of my head and choose instead to focus on the quiet beauty. The windows display more than a 180-degree view. Having a front-row seat, the view is spectacular.

Forcing my muscles to relax, I lean my head against Beast’s pec. We’ve ‘shared ‘bed-play’ as the guys like to call it. Twice. But we’ve never been intimate—either physically or emotionally. I know what his luminescent green sperm tastes like, but I know little about him other than he grew up a slave and is a Pinnacle gladiator.

I sink against him and decide I’d like to dedicate this journey to finding out more about him.

“You okay?” he asks.

“A moment of panic. It’s subsided for now. Let’s stay busy.”

“I can teach you some moves in the ludus which is right next to the spacious cargo bay,” he offers. “Perhaps you can show me around the kitchen. I’ve never been in one until I went to talk Maddie out of some treats for the trip. We could find the courts they promised in the brochure and play racquet sports. Then there’s always the pool.”

I wiggle in my seat, or should I say I wiggle on his lap which is my seat, to get a look at that handsome green face.

“Beast is joking with me!” I announce happily. The corners of his mouth are lifted, and his eyes look . . . merry. “Who are you and what have you done with the fearsome Beast of Tramachor?”

“I’m almost a free male. I’m trying things on for size. Seeing how it feels to be me. Boone of Hyperion.”

I turn in his arms, draping my legs over the arm of the chair so I can get a better look at his face. I still don't feel connected enough, so I press my palm to his cheek.

“This is important. Transforming from slave to free male would qualify as what we call a ‘Rite of Passage’ on Earth. It has to be treated with all the pomp and circumstance that it deserves.”

“No pomp. No circumstance, Aerie. I’m not free yet, and I’m still figuring things out.”

I glance at the instrument panel and see the light Braxxus showed us has turned green. After fumbling with the seat belt, I finally get myself sprung and stand up.

“So who is Boone of Hyperion?”

“I don’t have a clue. I’ll have to figure it out. I’ve noticed I feel more . . .” He didn’t just sputter to a stop, he looks paralyzed. He nods his head once, to himself, as if he just came to an agreement with himself. “I feel more me when I’m with you .”

Squish. I feel a giant hand squeeze my chest so tightly I can barely breathe. My heart literally quits beating for a moment. “I’m honored, Beast. Honored that I do that for you. That you can be yourself with me. I’ll try very hard to be that person for you—the person who accepts you for who you are even when you don’t know who that is.”

I feel all warm and gooey inside. I’m afraid to reveal that his presence does the same thing to me. I don’t need to share that now. I’ll let his statement be the big revelation of the day.

“So . . . what do you want me to call you? Beast? Boone? Hey you?”

He grabs my hand and returns it to where it had been—pressed to his beautiful green cheek.

“I don’t know who Boone is. For now, I’m still Beast.” He’s deep in thought.

“Beast it is,” I agree, nodding. “Beast-Evolving. On Earth, when we’re in our teens, we’re discovering who we are. I went through a phase—and my caregivers would tell you it lasted way too long—where I tried on different personas on a daily basis.

“I dressed all in pink lace for days at a time, then switched to all black, then decided I wasn’t any of that and shaved my head.”

“Like it is now?”

“No. Shaved. Like zero hair. This,” I point to my half-inch spikes, “is long compared to that. Although I do need a cut. It took me years to try on different personas, to . . . evolve. I’m still evolving too.”

He pulls me back onto his lap. I’m sideways, his strong arm is like a wall steadying my back. I can look into his face with impunity.

“Did you have a male back home, Aerie?”

Squish! Another fist squeezes my guts. The combination of that question and the warm look in his eyes scares the living shit out of me.

Is this the ‘intimate’ I was thinking about a moment ago? This is isn’t going to be easy.

“No. No serious males for me. None in my past, either. Just me and my work ethic and my newly-acquired stilt-purchasing addiction.”

“Is it safe to guess there are reasons there were no serious males for you on Earth?”

I nod.

“I’d like to get to know you, Aerie. I don’t know if I’m capable of being . . .” His lids shutter closed. The muscles in his face go on lockdown. Even though I can’t read minds, I’d bet he’s having a sword fight with himself in his mind. “I don’t know who I am. But I know I’d like to explore things. With you, Aerie. With you.”

I breach the distance between us and kiss those pale peach lips. He tucks me closer and brushes my lips more gently than I’ve ever been kissed. It’s strange. Men have kissed me to establish dominance before. Or to pretend one or two kisses were adequate foreplay.

I’ve engaged in encounters where we’ve skipped the preliminaries altogether and gone straight to the clothes-ripping-balls-to-the-wall-fucking stage.

But this, this exquisite brush of his alien lips against mine? The way he’s breathing in through his nose, as if he could inhale my essence? The nibbling tastes with only the tip of his tongue? No, I can’t say I’ve ever experienced this. And God, is it good.

Just this almost-chaste touch is lighting my body on fire. Leaning forward, I press the tips of my breasts against the wall of his chest. But it makes my senses skyrocket into overload, and I pull away.

The kiss. Just the kiss, is all I need right now. His palm skims along the nape of my neck, awakening every nerve ending, then he caresses my head.

Really? How come I never knew how erotic these soft, simple touches could be?

I rearrange myself, straddling him so my needy core can ride the steel-hard cock that’s sprouted between us.

“Slow,” he says, it’s somewhere between a request and an order.

I scootch back an inch and smile at him. I get it. This is Beast-Evolving.

I’ve wanted to do two things since practically the moment we met. Lick those rings surrounding his nose, and touch his hair.

Since he just petted my head and set me on fire, I’ll return the favor. I slide my fingers through the mass of thin ropey hair at the nape of his neck and notice the quick intake of breath this drags from his lips.

Detangling the tail at the back of his head, I capture one of his braids at the scalp and follow its path from root to end. A soft growl of satisfaction rumbles from the back of his throat.

I lean close and use the tip of my tongue to lick the top ring on his nose. Its metal feels cool, and pierces deep into his flesh. It’s masculine and makes him even more handsome in my eyes.

“Is this part of your race? Is it what all Hyperions do?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “There are things a gladiator must do to qualify as a Pinnacle. When those steps are complete, we get these. It’s the highest honor a male can have and marks us for all to see. There are only ten Pinnacles in the galaxy.”

He can’t hide his pride. If I was the top ten at anything in the galaxy, I’d be shouting it from the rooftops.

“I’m proud of you,” I say as I lick the next ring, then move to try to sneak a taste of his tongue. So much for slow.

“You’ve been with males before,” he says leaning his head into the tall back of the chair. “I’ve been with females. Beast-Evolving wants this to be different, Aerie. Is that fair to ask?”

“Different how?” I’m a lawyer. I have an abiding need to know every jot and tittle of any contract I agree to.

“In the past, my couplings have been rushed. They’ve been in the barracks with other males listening, sometimes watching. I often didn’t know the females’ names. If I did, I assumed it wasn’t their real name. I knew nothing about them but the feel of their cunt. I want more.”

I nod. “Me, too.”

“Beast-Evolving wants to explore. Slowly. Getting to know this,” he taps my forehead with the pad of his finger, “before I fully know this.” He reaches between us and unerringly presses directly outside my entrance. I doubt it was hard to find because I’ve probably drenched through my panties and leggings.

I suck air through my teeth and writhe against him before he pulls away and grips my chin. My scent is on his hand even though he touched me through two layers of clothes.

“So, just to get this straight, we’re going to be in this tiny pod together for two days. I’m going to be sitting on your lap, we’re going to be sharing half a bed—because I’m not sleeping on the floor—and I don’t get any of this?” I brush my knuckles along the hard rod pulsing against his pants. Thank goodness someone loaned him a few pairs of black cargo pants. I would go insane if all he wore was a loincloth.

“No. We’ll play. Explore. Hands and lips and mouths and, most importantly . . . minds.” That handsome face grants me a tiny smile as he cocks his head in question. He’s wondering if I’ll accept the contract as-is or make amendments.

Having grown up in foster care and group homes, I did not have an easy life. A lot of things were taken from me without my permission. One of which was sexual consent. Having skipped over that, I skipped over a lot of other things, too. I wonder if this could be a new beginning for me, too.

Aerie-Evolving. In the safety of our little pod in the silence of space. At first it sounded like torture. Maybe, though, we could carve out a little slice of heaven.

“I’m all in.” It felt like a good idea until the words were out of my mouth. Now a frisson of fear slices through me. “Five-minute increments, Beast,” I amend. “I don’t think I can tolerate more than five minutes at a time of letting you explore this.” I touch my forehead.

“Good plan. Slow is good in all things. Perhaps now is a nice time for bake-a-cake.”

He lifts me off him and sets me on the floor, then rummages under the bunk. He emerges with a hunk of cake in his hand and a smile slashed across his face.

“Take off everything above your waist,” he orders, his eyes dropping to half-mast.

My first impulse is to say ‘no’ and glare at him. I never learned how to take orders. That’s one of the reasons my foster parent, Mr. Ochsner, used to put a bar of soap in a sock and hit me with it.

I never quite understood his method until years later when I Googled “how to hit your child without leaving a mark.” It was the first thing that came up. Leaving marks would have killed the goose that laid the golden egg, ie: foster parent income from the state of Florida.

But I’m Aerie-Evolving and I need to avoid my knee-jerk reactions. One more glance at the molten-expression in his eyes and I tear off my black t-shirt.

“That too,” he says, tossing a pointed look at my bra.

It joins the tee on the floor.

He sits back in the black-padded captain’s chair, swivels toward me and commands, “Sit.”

It looks like Aerie-Evolving is going to learn how to follow orders this evening. I’ll assess how I feel after this little exercise.

“Face me,” he orders.

Three demands in a row. My molars grind as I fight the instinct to argue. But his lap looks so inviting, and his heated gaze holds such promise.

I climb onto his lap, my bent knees tucked against the back of the chair, my core riding his cock.

Those emerald eyes roam up and down from my waist to scalp and back again. “You’re a beautiful female,” he murmurs.

The husky tone of his voice and the lusty expression on his face prevent me from arguing.

He offers me a bite of the white cake with vanilla frosting. My mouth is dry from desire. I’ve lost my appetite.

“Not hungry.”

After dragging his finger through the icing, he rests it on my bottom lip. “Not hungry for this? It’s delicious.”

Well, when you offer it so nicely, who am I to refuse? My tongue snakes out, the tip stealing the tiniest lick from his finger.

“Certainly you want more than that little taste.” He hasn’t taken his gaze from me, like there are volumes of subtext lurking just under the surface.

“Lick it,” he’s back in drill Sergeant mode.

Oh . . . I’m the slow student in class. I get it now.

I swirl the icing off the tip of his green finger, first one way and then the other. Then I suck it into my mouth, just to the first joint. I make a little promise to myself. No matter what happens, I am not going to tear my gaze from him until his finger is well and thoroughly clean. Two can play at the Beast of Tramachor’s games.

I can taste the tang of his flesh beneath the artificial sweetness of the icing.

My head bobs as I suck his thick finger up and down. With every pass, I reach lower until I can’t go any farther. Now I add a sexy, satisfied moan to the mix, just to see how this affects him.

He’d be a good poker player. I see only the tiniest glimmer of increased passion on his face. His cock, however, tells another story. It kicks against my slit. Note to self—he likes noises of appreciation.

After pulling his finger out of my mouth, he brushes it against my lips.

“Aerie’s got a naughty mouth. I like that.” He grants me a hint of a smile, then swipes some more frosting onto his very clean finger.

His brows furrow as he dabs icing on one nipple, then the other. The expression on his face announces that this is important, industrious work. I imagine this same look on Michaelangelo as he painted the Sistine Chapel.

Glancing down, I watch as he pats, then dabs, then circles first one hardened nub and then the other. My nipples have been tight since we entered the pod. Now they’re hard enough to drill stone.

He cocks that beautiful head to the right and then the left just like Michaelangelo might have done when he was deciding if the hand of God was, indeed, perfectly painted, then pops his finger into his mouth to suck the remaining frosting off. It leaves his mouth with a soft pop.

“I’m starving,” he says, a wolfish gleam in his eyes.

His hands surround my back, thumbs under my armpits, as he drags me closer and dips his head to my breast. He’s not shy as he releases a deep moan.

“This stuff tastes so good,” he makes an attempt to control his tone, as if he’s describing a delicious dessert and not my nipple.

He licks each breast clean, taking his time, using the tip of his tongue, then the flat of it. Sucking first one and then the other into his mouth, he nips the tips until I clutch the globes of his ass to press him closer to me. This earns me a happy grunt.

He’s plucking one nipple, and gently biting the other when the comparison to Michaelangelo returns. Beast is an artist—an artist at this .

He pulls away, kisses me chastely on the lips and lifts me off his lap.

Wait. What?

“Here.” He hands me my t-shirt.

“I thought you were hungry.” I accuse.

“We just agreed to go slow.”

I fucking hate you . I can’t complain, though. I’m the contract queen. I can’t renege on a contract before the proverbial ink is dry.

“I’m not sure I like you right this moment.”

“Well, I like you enough for both of us,” he says as he rummages under the bed for something else.

Coward. He couldn’t say that while he looked at me. But the Beast of Tramachor just said he liked me. I don’t even try to hide the smile stretching across my face.

He emerges with three sheets in hand.

“Braxxus told me to rig a covering around the toilet. I’m not sure what he wanted, nor am I certain why. I just know he was adamant that I do it before you have to use it.”

“A privacy curtain,” I answer, assuming this explains everything.

When his response is to simply lift an eyebrow, I explain, “I think you can tuck the fabric between the ceiling plates there,” I point, “and there.”

And . . . another raised eyebrow.

“Then it will hang down and hide the toilet,” I explain as if to a small child.

“In human culture is the toilet offensive to the eyes? Does it offend one of your Gods?”

I have to inspect his face to see if he’s fucking with me. No.

“No, it’s for privacy .”

He wipes his face with his palm as he ponders this very difficult concept, then, “You don’t want me to watch you shit and piss.”

“Exactly.” I touch my nose like you do when someone guesses the correct, very hard answer in a game of charades.

“Why?”

He’s not playing.

“It’s embarrassing.” C’mon Beast, this isn’t that hard.

“I had my tongue in your cunt. You had my cock in your mouth. I watched your face as you came apart. But shitting and pissing is embarrassing?”

“This conversation is officially over.” Yeah. You don’t have to remind me what happened last time your cock was in my mouth. You screamed another woman’s name. Let’s not go there. “Just rig the fucking curtain.”

Something about my tone must have expressed the depth and breadth of my displeasure, because he stands on the toilet and begins shoving the ends of the sheets into the tight spaces between the metal ceiling tiles. The end result looks precarious at best—a strong breeze will make the sheets flutter to the floor—but I’ll be able to sit on the throne unobserved.

I debate whether to even thank him, he made me work so hard for it, but I eventually say it, albeit grudgingly. I don’t get how the male could be so dense.

“I’ve lived in a barracks my whole life. There was one place to shit. We were lucky to have it. It never occurred to me that it was supposed to be a private affair.”

I’m a bitch. I really am. It never crossed my mind that he’d never been allowed this tiny modicum of privacy, of common decency. All of a sudden I feel tremendous compassion for this male. My jaw tightens as I attempt to hide all the feelings swirling inside.

I reach out to help him step down. I’m overpowered by the need to know more about him, to understand him better, to have deeper insights into what it was like to grow up a slave.

“Thank you for doing that,” I say, this time with feeling. “I’m going to inaugurate the toilet and then shall we lie down and answer one question each?”

He leans to kiss my forehead, then pulls back to look at me, his face serious. “You know I’ll still be able to hear you, right? And the curtain will do nothing to hide the smells.” He’s so earnest, as if he’s informing me of facts that weren’t already in evidence.

“I’m aware. But let’s do it like we do on Earth. We pretend we don’t hear or smell any of it. We pretend, without comment, that it smells as fresh as an ocean breeze.”

His head snaps back as if I just smacked him. “Really?”

“Okay, I’ll bite. How did you guys handle it in the barracks?”

“We joked. It was fair game. We laughed and sang songs about it. Want to hear one?”

“NO!”

I step into the only private space on board, do my business—thankfully just number one—and emerge as if I’m the Queen of Sheba.

“I don’t smell a thing,” he says with an earnest smile.

“Beast! No comment, remember? We just pretend nothing happened. No songs, no jokes, no negative or even positive remarks.”

“Ohhh, got it.”

Beast

Ten minimas later, we’re in our bunk illuminated only by the instrument panel lights. The bed is tucked against the circular wall, so half of it is cut off at the top and bottom. Aerie fits perfectly. I like her there, as if she’s mine to protect.

“I agreed to your terms. You said I could get to know you five minimas at a time. I have a question,” I say.

“Okay,” her voice is wary.

“Tell me about the closet.”

“I was hoping you weren’t paying attention when I mentioned that.”

“I pay attention to everything you say. I imagine the closet story will tell me a lot about you.”

“Tomorrow.”

This doesn’t surprise me. I doubt it’s a happy story.

“All right. Tell me about the stilts.” I lift her head, so it’s on my bicep. It’s comforting to have the little human so close.

I’ve only slept with a female once before. That was a day ago with Aerie and I was determined to stay as far from her as possible so I didn’t spill my seed twice before the biggest match of my life.

Now I’ve got her trapped between the wall and me. It feels good.

“I grew up poor. On Earth we call it dirt poor. I didn’t have a family, so I lived with people who took children in for money. I always envied other kids who had more stuff than me.” She takes a breath and cranes her head to look at me. “This has to sound ridiculous to you. You grew up as a slave. I feel selfish even talking about this.”

“It’s not a competition, Aerie. This lets me picture you as a little one. I want it to come into focus. I’ve already got part of it, tell me more.”

“I had one thing going for me—I was smart. If I applied myself I could be at the head of my class. At first, I didn’t work or pay attention in school. I didn’t see the payoff.

“I daydreamed and was oppositional and didn’t try at all. Then I stumbled into the awareness that succeeding in school got me the trifecta of good stuff. First, it took my mind off the . . . hard things that were happening in my homes. Second, it got me attention, the good kind. And third, I felt proud when I got good grades.

“So fairly early in life I became an achiever. Some would say an overachiever. It’s what lifted me out of poverty.”

I tuck her head under my chin and close my eyes, picturing a little female in ragged t-shirt and leggings—it’s the only thing I know Earth females wear other than Aerie’s armor—working hard in a schoolroom.

“I studied hard and earned a scholarship to college, and then law school, and through nothing but my own merit, I landed an amazing job that could earn me a ton of money, which on Earth is what it’s all about.

“The shoes are a status symbol, they signi—”

“What is a status symbol?” I ask.

“It’s something that’s hard to get. Anyone looking at you knows at a glance that you have money—which is status—if you own it.”

“I’m not certain I understand.”

“Being a Pinnacle is a status symbol. You don’t even have to brag or say a thing. One look at the five rings on your nose and people defer to you.”

Is that true? Do people defer to me? “Is that what you see?”

“When you boarded the Fool’s Errand , the guys surrounded you and fawned all over you. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

I replay it in my mind. Yes, they flattered and pandered to me. “Yes,” I admit.

“On Earth it can come from status, like being a Pinnacle, more often, though, it comes from money and stuff—things. So the shoes are expensive, ridiculously so. You could get similar shoes from a crappy store on sale for like twenty of your credits, or you can buy these shoes. They have a fancy name and sell for close to a thousand. People know the difference because of the red sole.

“Of course, there are knockoffs, cheap shoes that dye their soles red, but these are the real deal. They scream that I am somebody.”

My chest tightens. I don’t like that the little female needs to scream her worth to anyone. Pressing my lips to the stiff peaks of her hair, I whisper, “You are somebody, Aerie. You don’t need to prove anything to anybody. You’re beautiful and competent. Look how you negotiated those bouts on Galgon. Even Zar admitted he couldn’t have gotten near that price had he been in charge.

“And you’re strong. I’ll tell you a secret,” I dip my voice low, like I’m conspiring with her.

“Don’t think for a moment this will get you out of sharing your own five minutes, Beast,” she says. But I know her better now. Her sass is her self-protection, like those dracking shoes.

“Yes. I owe you my five minimas , but I’ll tell you this for free. When I first saw you, kicking and screaming and fighting your way into my cell, I thought you were magnificent.” Magnificent and insane for resisting even though she wore the pain/kill collar, but I don’t add this last piece.

“Really?”

“Fearless.”

I tilt my head to confirm my suspicion that this made her smile. Yes, indeed. There’s a pretty smile on her face.

“Now it’s my turn to ask you a question?” She looks shy.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Emmannee.”

I knew that would be her question. I was prepared.

“Tomorrow.”

“I knew you’d say that. So I planned a backup question. Tell me the most surprising thing about you.”

“You’re from Earth. How would I know what surprises you. I never would have guessed that bathroom habits were private.”

“Okay.” She pauses. “I agree. That question is too hard. So, alright, tell me the kindest thing you’ve ever done.”

“You just watched me kill six males in the arena and you want to know the kindest thing I’ve ever done?” She thinks I’m bloodthirsty. She watched my come splatter on Tsing’s breasts without a shred of remorse on my part. Aerie wants to know I’m capable of kindness.

“I have no stories to tell,” I admit.

“Liar,” she accuses.

“You explained how money and things are status on Earth. What’s important in my world is power and strength. You can’t show weakness—and kindness is weakness. I have no stories to tell,” I reiterate.

“You’re a fucking liar, Beast. The first thing you did when you met me, while I was still unconscious, was to catch me to keep my head from splitting wide open on the hard floor. Then you held me tight during the battle. Totally sexy, by the way,” she adds as an afterthought.

I’d hoped to keep my cock under control while we talked in bed. That desire just vanished.

“Then, nicest thing of all, you threatened to break my neck—swiftly so as not to cause pain.”

She wiggles to see my face and smiles at me. In that position, she looks younger, and happy.

“So why do I have to tell you any stories? You already know I’m the kindest male in the galaxy,” I snipe.

Rolling on her side, she snuggles against me, her bent leg slung over my hips. She’s wearing her t-shirt and panties. I’m down to my loincloth. We’re in dangerous territory if we want to keep talking.

A memory bubbles to the surface of my mind. It’s not a good one.

“I was young, maybe five or six. It’s hard to keep track as a slave. My owner wasn’t wealthy, he had me training in the ludus during the day and helping in the house at night. I fetched things and cleaned.

“He had a daughter about my age, Larana. Whenever I was in the house, she lurked nearby and watched me. Her skin was blue and shaggy, maybe that’s why I fascinated her—my smooth, green skin.

“Over time, she developed a habit of catching me alone in a room I was cleaning. One time she brought a ball and played catch with me. A few weeks later she gave me a piece of fabric that was swirled with beautiful colors and was the softest thing I’d ever touched.

“I took it from her, thanked her, then hid it in her toybox. She had no way of knowing that I’d be thrashed within an ince of my life for having such a thing. Even though she gave it to me, my master would assume I stole it.”

I tuck Aerie’s head under my chin. I don’t want to watch her watching me.

“One evening I was dusting just the way the mistress had instructed, lifting each item up and then setting it back exactly as it had been. I learned quickly that returning it to the wrong spot warranted punishment.

“Larana grabbed one of her mother’s scarves and mimicked my every move, except she wasn’t being careful. When she picked up her mother’s favorite glass vase, I whispered to her to stop. My mistress forbade me to touch it, she said it was far too valuable. She dusted that herself.

“Despite my warnings, Larana picked it up and immediately dropped it, breaking it into a thousand pieces. She stayed rooted in place, eyes wide in fright. She had heard her mother forbid anyone to touch it.

“Mistress pounded into the room and saw the evidence. I was ten fiertos away, Larana stood over the broken fragments of glass.

“‘Did you do this, Larana?’” her mother asked.

“As Larana said ‘yes’, I said, ‘Larana, you don’t have to take the blame for something I did. I’m sorry, Mistress’.

“It had to have been obvious what the truth was, but Mistress was more than happy to place the blame on someone other than her precious child.

“She beat me with a wooden rod she kept in the house for just such a purpose. She made Larana watch, I assume, to ensure her child followed the rules in the future.

“The beating went on longer than I could track. I’d found that counting the strokes allowed me to maintain my sanity, but I stopped at some point. The pain was too intense to pay attention to anything but my breathing. She was taking all her anger out on me, even though I’m certain she knew I hadn’t done it.

“At some point, I crumpled to the floor and was lying in a pool of my own blood. Mistress had to call another servant to carry me to my barracks. I bear the marks to this day.”

When I started talking, Aerie was stroking my chest. A moment into my story, though, she stilled and simply listened.

Now she rolls a few inces away from me and gently nudges me onto my side, to face away from her. Why would she want to see my back? To prove the truth of my words? To see the damage?

I almost push her aside, but Beast-Evolving rolls onto his stomach—waiting.

It’s dark. Perhaps she can’t see the marks. They’ve faded over time. But I feel them when I reach around to put a scabbard on my back. I know they’re still there.

One dainty finger starts at my shoulder, then trails down my back. I know the moment she encounters one of the thick, raised scars. A doctor once called it a keloid.

She traces, wordlessly, crisscrossing my back with the lightest touch.

I try to read her mind. I haven’t felt humiliated by these scars in decades, but I feel humble now. Judged by her. Why did I have to tell her this memory out of all the things in my head?

She shifts next to me, and I feel her lips trace along the same lines her finger just abandoned. From shoulder to waist, and back up again. Over and over. Leaving no mark untouched.

Did I think she was judging? No. This is tenderness. Compassion.

Leaning up, her lips brushing my ear, she says, “The mighty Beast of Tramachor, feared among even the toughest gladiators in the galaxy, carries a secret. Under his skin he bears the marks that document the kindest thing he ever did. Here it is . . .” she kisses the thick keloid just below my shoulder blade, “for anyone with eyes to see. It proclaims his secret—his kind heart, hidden to protect him.”

She leans over me, her gaze commanding me to look at her. “Are you male enough, Beast? Are you male enough to bare your kind heart to me? Maybe just for this trip, in the tight confines of this pod? And I, I can try to bare mine to you.”

Her eyes are shining, luminous in the scant light thrown by the instrument panel. We both learned young how to hide our kind hearts for self-protection.

“Mine is buried deep, Aerie. Maybe too deep to excavate. But I’ll try if you will.”

Perhaps the moment is too emotional to prolong, because she presses me onto my back, slides down my body, and pulls my loincloth low enough to grip my cock in her palm. Then her mouth is on me and the past fades back into the steel casket I keep it in.

I focus on her warm lips and the suction of her mouth and the tiny grunts of pleasure that escape her as she gives me release. I’m very careful to let nothing depart my mouth but sounds of bliss.