Page 54

Chapter Twelve

G race

I wake for the first time in days with no anxiety—zero. Yes, I know I have a performance tonight, and tomorrow. I’ll weather it. Everyone loved me last night. My fingers can play my music without direction from me. We’ll be off this planet in less than forty-eight hours and I’ll never see any of these people again.

And Tyree? I’m not certain I even want to think about what happened last night. But, of course, my mind sprints to a complete, face-reddening rehash of every second. I can’t believe I revealed myself to him like that. I let him into my head for God’s sake. Not only did I allow him to crawl into my mind, but if that wasn’t enough, I told him every thought I had. Every sexy, intimate thought. And every feeling—every horny feeling. I described how he made me feel. Oh my God, I practically promised to be his sex slave when we got back to the ship. My ears are burning in embarrassment.

At the time, it was exciting and sensual and like agreeing to a sexy dare. Now, this morning, I feel like I did something while I was drunk that I’m regretting the day after. If I was a sorority girl, I would do the walk of shame out of the frat house and hope I never ran into the guy on campus. But Tyree is my personal bodyguard! He’s not going to leave my side for the next two days. And then we’ll be back onboard the Warrior along with twenty other souls. How am I supposed to avoid him?

I hear a muffled grunt from the bathroom, then a flush, then the shower running. The man is one big walking hormone. And it’s all directed at me. This thought pricks my nipples, now standing in tight points under my gown. The same gown I pulled up my body as if I was exposing myself to him last night.

“Stop it, Grace!” I order myself. I don’t even care if whoever is monitoring me thinks I’m crazy. Perhaps I am.

I get up, pull a blanket around me, and march down the hall in search of an empty bathroom. The suite is bustling with activity. Half the males are already dressed in their uniforms, the others seem to all be noisily showering in every available bathroom. I skulk back to my room. I’ll have to deal with Tyree sooner than I’d like.

When I approach, Petra’s standing at my door, about to knock. “Oh, Grace. Dax and Theos went back to the ship and grabbed us all some clothes since we hadn’t planned on sleeping here. Clean panties!” She holds a pair aloft and waves them like a flag, “And a few of your dresses, as well as a large t-shirt to sleep in. I hope you don’t mind that he pawed through your stuff to find this.”

“Great!” I try to sound cheerful. “I was wondering what I was going to wear today.”

Luckily, Tyree is dressed when I crack the door to our room.

“Morning,” I say, avoiding his eyes as I skirt around him, enter the bathroom, and close the door behind me. I’m sure that was as obvious as a slap in the face. I immediately turn on the water to drown out any questions he may be lobbing at me through the door, although I know I’ll have to face him at some point.

In less than ten minutes, I’ve showered, dragged a comb through my hair, and pulled on underwear and a dress. Moment of truth. When I open the door, though, he’s gone. Why are my lips pressed into a thin line of dejection when I realize he’s not here?

Obviously, I don’t know what I want. Half of me wants to avoid him for the rest of my life, the other half doesn’t want to be separated from him for more than a minute. Perhaps insanity runs in my family. Maybe I’m as unbalanced as my mother.

I know something’s wrong as soon as I open the door to our hallway. It’s quiet. Like eerily quiet. Gladiators are not quiet people. They’re big and loud and uninhibited—even when they’re wearing clothes, and that isn’t all the time. They laugh and joke and make fun of each other, that is when they’re not farting or arm wrestling or arguing over who gets the last pastry—which is always Dax by the way.

I walk into the sitting room, where everyone is quietly gathered, and it’s like that old game of telephone where one person whispers in another’s ear and the secret is passed around. In this version, as each person receives the information their face becomes pinched, their eyes downcast, their whole expression somber.

By the looks of it, Tyree has already heard the secret. When he sees me, his eyes dance from mine.

I’m sure you’re wondering what’s going on, his thoughts flash into my mind. Dax and Theos went back to the ship and came back with some disturbing news. Callista has been monitoring deep space comms and has some serious concerns. We’re all but certain that the Bird of Prey II, one of MarZan’s swiftest vessels, is on its way here. They’ve tracked our ship. Zar’s thought is to leave atmo and lead them on a chase. Luckily our hyperdrive was repaired yesterday.

Okay . I respond. I’ll grab my things. I’m certain the Emperor isn’t going to like this, but we’ve got a fast ship and can be far away from this planet before they know we’re gone.

We don’t need another enemy, Grace. His brow furrows in determination. MarZan knows every gladiator on the ship. They were idented and well documented. They would never suspect me, I was three- fiertos tall. The women’s info never left the ship. I’m convinced they won’t be looking for either of us. You and I will be safer here on Emirus.

Separate from everyone? My eyes are wide in panic. These people have become my family. I feel safe on the ship. If we separate, I won’t have all my friends.

They’ll come back to get us, Grace. The crew will just have outrun MarZan and come back to pick us up when it’s safe. That way you won’t incur Emperor Quirinus’ wrath. I don’t want to be on his bad side. He doesn’t look like the forgiving type.

So, Tyree, everyone would take off and leave us here? Just like that? What about our safety?

The Emperor has been generous with his personal guards. We don’t have to even leave our quarters. We’ll just sit tight here and await pickup.

I hate to express my next fear, but it has to be communicated, What if...what if they never come to pick us up? What if the cartel…?”

We’ve discussed that possibility. This is a civilized planet. You have your music, you’ll always be able to earn credits—you can live here comfortably. You’ll have me as your bodyguard. People have been stranded with far fewer resources.

I care for everyone on board, even Shadow. I don’t want to contemplate losing them. They’re my family more than my mother ever was. It strikes me with sudden force that I have a family now. And I might lose them. I swallow several times in rapid succession, trying not to release the tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

We’re waiting for a signal from Zar. Tyree continues. The ship is still monitoring comms. If our suspicions are confirmed, the males and Petra will be gone within minimas —she refuses to leave her male. Shadow will give me his wrist comm so they can keep in touch with me regarding retrieval. We’ll tell Emperor Quirinus the captain’s mother is ill and they have to fly through a hazardous quadrant to get to his home planet. We’ll tell him how safe we feel here, and that we’ll stay until our comrades return.

He smiles to reassure me, but he’s a terrible liar. Plans this hasty rarely work.

M y hand is shaking as I try to apply makeup as skillfully as Petra did last night. We received word that she and the gladiators needed to run. Petra grabbed my green dress, Dax threw about a hundred pastries in a pillowcase, and they were on the Warrior by two in the afternoon.

This dress is so heavy and hard to maneuver, it took tremendous effort to struggle into it without assistance. Of course, Tyree would be all too happy to help, but that would tip off the sneaky, watchful eyes. I’m wearing the red dress tonight; my breasts are crammed into the bodice and artfully hidden by lace. I’m wearing the huge, heavy, red gem necklace the Emperor gave me yesterday. It’s far too ostentatious for my taste, but looks great with the dress and will express my gratitude for the gift.

Without Petra, my hair isn’t nearly as skillfully arranged as it was last night. Yesterday my thin blond hair had been coaxed into a chic chignon. Today I’ve pulled it back into an easy ponytail at the nape of my neck. It will have to do.

But the makeup, well, that’s another story. My mom used to go “out on the town” as she put it, which meant fire engine red lipstick, way too much blush, and her boobs on display. She usually did this when she had no boyfriend and needed drugs. As I grew older, I got a very clear idea of what else this entailed.

Because of this, I never went through the preteen phase of playing with my mom’s makeup. I’ve never worn anything with more color than cherry ChapStick. I know I’ll look washed out from the audience if I don’t have on some fairly heavy cosmetics, but I have no idea how to accomplish this. I’ve put products on and washed them off four times now, and my face hurts from all the scrubbing.

Tyree knocks on the door. “Grace. I contacted the ladies from the dress shop. They agreed to give you a hand. I knew you needed help.”

Help? From the neon ladies? Um, what could they possibly offer me? I’m desperate and let them in.

“I showed them some pictures I took on my wrist comm last night. They say they can help you with that look,” he assures me.

“No neon? I don’t want to look like a prostitute.”

“They assure me they understand.”

Thirty minutes later I’m nodding my head in approval at my reflection. The eye shadow is a little more dramatic than I’d like, but it’s artfully applied and coordinates with the red of the dress.

I realize I’ve been so consumed with hair and makeup that I’ve had little chance to meltdown over the elephant in the room, or should I say elephants? The fact that I’ll be playing in front of thousands of people in under an hour, my friends on the Warrior are probably in another sector by now, and I’ll be dining with the Emperor of the planet after my performance. Not to mention the awkward strain between Tyree and me.

He pays the ladies for their time with the card Shadow gave him before he left. As soon as they leave, he sits me down, stands behind me and gives me a chaste neck rub the cameras can’t miss. This gives him the opportunity to give me a treatment that allows me to take full, deep breaths.

You’ll do fine, Amara. The same as last night, only better—and easier. Did staring at the doorknob help?

Yes, I should have told you. It worked great.

So do that, Grace. Focus on that and let your fingers fly. Your program will be over before you know it.

And that’s exactly what happens. I forget the Battle-Scarred Warrior . I don’t pay attention to the fact Emperor Quirinus has chosen to attend two performances in two days. I don’t notice the thousands of eyes watching my every move. I just allow my fingers to fly, as Tyree suggested. The program is over in what seems like a few minutes.

Tyree

Grace’s performance was even more accomplished and well-received than it was last night. I’m so proud of her.

Shadow had spoken with Mauritious about our departure before the gladiators left the planet. He didn’t think there was any suspicion that something was amiss. By the look of things, I don’t think the Emperor gave it another thought. No, he was too drackin g busy figuring out a way to get Grace alone in his private, concert-hall suite.

I want to kill him. My hands are fisted at my sides and I hear blood pounding in my ears. He told Grace she’d be safe with him and his guards. He urged me to take a “well-deserved night off.” He caught me alone in the hallway and pointed out a lovely young female, her breasts exposed above a fancy gown, her nipples rouged, evidently to appeal to a male’s baser instincts.

“Why don’t you leave Grace here with me? She’ll be protected as heavily as if she was in the bosom of her own family. See that beautiful female over there? The four-armed Mordite with the lush mouth and luscious breasts? She is well trained. She’s so desirous to please whatever male I suggest, she doesn’t need to wear a pain/kill collar. She would be eager to service you tonight. All night long.” He leers at me lasciviously.

“She was trained in the Moruvian Butterfly Technique, young man. The Moruvian Butterfly Technique,” he repeats as he flicks his thick crimson tongue quickly in and out of his lips. “It is said there is nothing more arousing in all the galaxy. Leave Grace with me. Go have fun.”

“I’ve been charged by her father to protect her since she was a schoolgirl, your Highness. Besides, he would have my head and the heads of my parents if I was derelict in my duties.” I glance at the female and now understand the dead look in her eyes. “The Moruvian Butterfly Technique. I’ve heard about it since my teens. Many said it was simply legend. I’m certain it would be wonderful. You’re generous to make such an offer. I’m sorry I have to decline.”

In the Emperor’s private suite I move to Grace’s side to pull out the chair for her at the table for two that has been sumptuously set. I position myself in the corner so I can watch the two of them.

There are no less than eight of the Emperor’s personal guards in this room. If he gave the signal, my head would be separated from my neck before I could draw my gun. So be it. I’ll keep playing this game of courtly manners. I’ll protect Grace with my last breath.

Out of all the males on the ship, I am least equipped to actually protect my Amara . I’m clumsy with the chainsticks lodged in a holster at the small of my back. I’m slow to draw my gun. I’ve only sparred in hand-to-hand combat a handful of times. I should have demanded one of the other males stay to safeguard Grace. I was too possessive to properly assess what would have been best for her security.

Now look at her. She seems to be enamored of this male. I can see his appeal. He’s so wealthy and powerful—that alone would make any female’s heart flutter. But I have to admit, his crimson lips and dark features are handsome in a cruel way. Cruel, yes that’s the word I’ve been searching for. It was there all along, but most apparent when he was speaking of the Mordite female. This male likes his power.

I attempt to stay out of the way. I don’t show any attachment to Grace other than that she is my charge. I keep my features schooled in a soldier’s attentive repose. It wouldn’t do any good for my face to expose my desire to rip his jugular out of his throat.

He reaches across the table to feed Grace a piece of breen he has declared “impeccably cooked.” Is she simpering? Enjoying his attention? Really? Perhaps my psychic powers extend to being able to set this room ablaze and kill us all.

But no, I stand here, the perfect picture of the lone gladiator. Protector and servant. The only thing that keeps me from embarking on a killing rampage is the memory of Grace under her covers last night. Mine. She’s mine, even if right now at this moment she’s laughing at his lame jokes.

I’m fully aware of what is currently going on in this room, but I’m nursing the memory of Grace’s wild orgasm last night. Although this dinner is interminable, it will be over soon. Grace will be with me tonight. Even though I’ll be sleeping on the floor, we’ll be in the same room. He will never have her.

There’s something about the look that just slashed across his face. It’s only apparent for a moment. I don’t think Grace caught it. Her facial muscles don’t tighten, her shoulders don’t stiffen. But I can’t shake my concern. The demeaning way he talked about the Mordite female. The casual way he referenced her slave collar. He was so proud she was his possession and so well trained she would do his bidding without needing punishment. The way he offered her to me like he offered Grace a piece of breen .

The thought at first insinuates itself into my brain—I push it away. But the idea won’t let go—I should glimpse his thoughts. At first, I think it’s an idea from Drackhead . Drackhead’s ideas are seldom worth acting upon. But this thought has more merit than that. What happened with Grace and me last night leaves no doubt I can accomplish it. Even though he’s a different species, I know I can climb into his mind.

The more I contemplate it, the deeper the thought burrows into my brain. A few moments later, I quit debating with myself—I know I’m going to do it. And a modicum after that I school my features into easygoing indifference, lock my hands behind my back in a placid “at ease” position, and let the fingers of my mind reach gently into his.

Last night with Grace, I knocked at the door of her mind. Now, though, the tendrils of my mind slip under the doorway of his like wisps of smoke. My entry is undetected. He’s still blustering at Grace, bragging about battles of bygone annums as the general of his father’s troops. I begin pillaging through his thoughts, looking for the doorways to his hidden memory closets.

And then I find it. The secret closet at the back of his mind. When I open it, I realize that what I see makes the raw sewage I encountered in Captain Gren’s mind seem like a clear forest stream.

I toggle back to this room, making certain my features are set like stone. I don’t want to give anything away. Grace is safe. Neither the Emperor nor any of his guards are alerted to any change in me. Then I return to rummage through the ruler’s secret closet.

I see him as a little boy, hitting his personal servant, a grown male, over and over with a cane. The cane whistling, the male wailing in pain, his blood dripping from dozens of slices decorating his back and thighs. For a moment I’m privy to the absolute jubilation the young Emperor felt wielding this amount of power.

The next memory I open is the Emperor... drack , I don’t want to watch. What was seen cannot be unseen. I already saw his penis enter his female pet. I don’t know what type of animal it is. It reminds me a bit of my four-legged Druselda back home. She was my constant companion—so loyal. I have to shut the door on this heinous memory without watching it to the end. This was just too unsettling. Nausea rises from my stomach. I saw more than enough.

Again I bring my attention back to scan this room. I want to make sure no tears are leaking out of my eyes. Perhaps it’s because I lived so many annums as a slave. Or maybe I just have innate compassion. Watching this is like having a hand squeezing my heart.

But I have to open some other doors. Perhaps those were aberrations of a young male with too much time and not enough parental attention. I slip back into his mind and already know which door I need to open. It’s well worn. I have a hunch it’s his favorite.

This isn’t from his childhood or adolescence. It looks like it could have happened yesterday. It’s him and a young female. She could be a Morganian like Shadow, but for some reason, I wonder if she’s human. Her skin is ruddy amber; she’s lovely—tall and delicate. She’s crying and shaking her head. Her body is nude and quaking so vigorously it’s a wonder she can stand.

The bedroom is huge and so well-appointed it has to be his. It’s done up in blood red and gold. Everything is sumptuous and expensive. But that’s not what keeps my attention. He’s ordering her around. He doesn’t raise his voice. I doubt he needs to. She wears a pain/kill slave collar, he wears the wrist controller. She’s crying, begging. He just keeps calmly repeating his commands. He orders her to her knees. He orders her to suck his cock. He orders her to do other odious things.

Then I realize there’s another soul in the room. Oh, my Gods, this male looks like pictures from the scriptures my parents read to me as a child. The book called him Suratan . He was pure evil. And that is what this man looks like. His face is red, white, and black, with savage markings—almost like a skull. He is so fearsome-looking, you’d shoot without asking questions if you encountered him in a back alley.

My blood chills in my veins. I shift back to the present, once again ensuring that my face is emotionless. Grace and the Emperor are on the dessert course. She’s cooing and praising the delicacy of the dish he’s pressing into her mouth with his fork. My mind flashes a picture of me squeezing his throat so hard his eyes pop out of his skull. I breathe in and out at a slow pace.

This male and his minions are far more dangerous than I’d ever imagined. I have to keep my wits about me. I can’t give anything away. Grace isn’t in any immediate danger. I need to go back inside that infested pool of waste one more time. I have to see what the Emperor and Suratan do to that poor young female.

“Come here, Devolose,” the Emperor orders. The Suratan’s lips are pressed in a flat line. He looks calm and impassive. He doesn’t look horrified. He steps forward upon command and bows his head, ready to do the Emperor’s bidding.

“Slap Tawny’s face!”

Devolose does as he’s told immediately and without question.

“Harder!” Devolose slaps her so hard her head swivels on her neck, then ricochets back past the midline of her body.

“Yes!” I can feel the Emperor’s glee, as well as his arousal. “Again!” This goes on for agonizing moments. Perhaps out of necessity I discover the mechanism to watch these vids in fast fashion.

Quirinus climbs upon his bed, lies back, and pulls his turgid cock from his trousers. He fondles it slowly, like a male who wants to prolong his pleasure.

“Slap her breasts,” he demands. Then, of course, “Harder!”

I clamp my teeth together. I’ve seen enough. These memories are horrifying, sadistic and recent. I simply can’t force myself to watch one more moment.

Just when I think I can leave these scenes, I see another doorway. It also looks well-worn. I know I have to open this door, too. Now that I know how to fast forward, I can handle whatever I find. At least I hope so.

I see a dungeon. It looks old, dark and damp with water dripping from the ceiling. The female is in a cell; the Suratan is with her. Perhaps he’s some type of android or cyborg? Certainly, no living sentient being could be so impassive, so uncaring.

The Emperor is on his sumptuous bed, fondling his cock much more aggressively and enjoyably than before. He’s watching the scene on a screen and giving orders to the Suratan via a comm unit. Somehow I have clarity that this is a frequent pastime for the monarch. He does it often, enjoys it.

The female is locked in his dungeon. She looks worse in this picture. There are bruises in various stages of healing all over her nude body.

One more thing. This will be more dangerous. I have to leave the attic of this maniac’s mind and sneak into his current thoughts. I need to find out where this dungeon is, and how to get there. The attic was far away from his current awareness. But this information is right there in his conscious mind. If he feels me riffling through his thoughts I won’t be safe. Grace won’t be either.

I know the dessert course is over and I’ll need to come back to full alertness soon. I ask myself what Grace would want, and I know the answer before I even ask it. She would never allow me to leave that female in the dungeon. I need to know where it is. Later I’ll have to figure out how to help Tawny escape. How to kill the Suratan and the Emperor? That will have to wait until another day.

Miraculously, the Emperor doesn’t feel me searching his mind for the directions to the dungeon. I discover every step—it isn’t far.

“Oh, Arge. Thank you for your kind invitation. Whoever would have imagined that I would be invited to inspect the private living quarters of the Emperor of Emirus?” Grace is fawning. Is she enamored? Has he deluded her?

“It is so hospitable of you, but these performances fatigue me so greatly. I’ll be useless tomorrow if I don’t go to sleep shortly. Thank you again for your generous offer. You’ve been nothing but kind. This food has been the most delicious I’ve ever tasted. Seriously. My trip to Emirus will remain in my memories forever. Thanks also for allowing me to pack a portion to give my servant when we’re back in my quarters.” She lifts the little package that’s been wrapped by his staff as if it contained diamonds.

“Tyree, would you escort me back to my room? Thanks again, Argento.” She curtsies as if she was born for a life like this. She said her existence on Earth was a struggle. Does the Emperor fulfill her dreams? Did she have fantasies of growing up and living in a palace decorated with gold and gems? My nostrils flare and my hands twitch in envy. Envy at an unspeakable monster, I remind myself.

She bestows a warm, wide smile on him, and I wonder if she’s smitten. His veneer is so gracious, so generous, so handsome.

I bend slightly at the waist and gesture for her to precede me out the door. We walk from his huge suite on the first-floor balcony to the stage and then through the maze of hallways to our quarters. Three of the Emperor’s guards follow us. If he were to simply give the word, those guards would be our captors, perhaps our tormentors, rather than our protectors.

Grace’s safety is so precarious. How can I defend her? One thing I do know. I can’t let her know what I just saw in his mind. She would never be able to perform her last concert tomorrow if she knew. I want to rescue the enslaved female. But even more than that, I must keep Grace safe. My Grace.

I’m not much for praying, but I pray with all my heart that Zar and Axxios find a way to outwit and outrun the cartel. I picture them swooping in as Grace takes her final curtain call tomorrow and snatching us off this dracking planet.

“ W hat a charming man,” she sighs after we’ve both showered and are lying down.

“Indeed,” I reply, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

“You didn’t eat any of the doggy bag I brought you.”

“If the translator is correct, on my planet we do not eat that type of animal, it is considered a house pet.

She laughs, then explains the term.

“Thanks, but I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Seriously the best food I’ve eaten in my entire life, Tyree. I felt guilty, eating it in front of you and not being able to share. Sure you don’t want some now?”

“No appetite,” my tone is sour.

“Don’t you think the Emperor is handsome?”

What is that inflection in her voice? Is she baiting me? Why?

“And charming. Don’t you think he’s the most charming fellow?”

My hands ball to fists at my sides. I don’t believe I’ve ever been irritated with Grace before, but my anger gathers so fast my temples throb and my jaw clenches.

“Did it seem to you like he was interested in me, Tyree? Do you think he might have a little crush? Did you know he’s not married? Imagine that, a man of his good looks and muscular stature. I was thinking—”

I can’t control myself any longer. I roar into her head like the fire stallions from Luxon IV. Grace! I scream at her, my anger flaring.

Dear Lord, Tyree. Did you need a written invitation to come talk to me in my head? My next move was to give voice to a sexual fantasy about that horrid male.

Horrid? I slow my breathing and unclench my fists.

Yes, horrid. I’ve never encountered a male, or female for that matter, so enamored of their own voice. The food was delicious, but the dinner was endless. I could barely wait to come back to our room and giggle with you about what an ass he is. You do think he’s an ass, don’t you?

Okay, my breathing is almost back to normal, but now I have to figure out how to laugh and joke with her and not let her know exactly how black that male’s soul is. I’m assuming he’ll be at tomorrow’s performance as well. If she knew half of what I know, she’d never be able to tolerate being in the same room with him.

Total ass, I agree. Galaxy’s biggest ass.

I got a pervy vibe from him, too. But let’s change the subject. I wish we could snuggle in this bed. Although, after what happened last night maybe that’s not a good idea. I miss those nights before your Transformation when we’d laugh and have fun watching vids in bed.

We could do that again, Grace. It’s just that now we have other things we can do in bed when we’re bored. More choices than vids…

Are you leering at me, Tyree? I wish I could see your handsome face. It’s kind of interesting not being able to touch. Maybe tonight I could be the one to tell you what to do under your covers.

Mighty bold, Miss Grace. Some night I would like that, too. In fact, I’m moving that very thing to the top of my fantasy list.

Ohhh, very interesting. What’s right below that?

I’m at a choice point here, keep up this sexual banter and tease poor Drackhead to the point of a trip or two or three to the bathroom, or shut things down right now.

We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and your dracking dinner took hoaras. We should probably save our little games for another time.

You’re right. One more day on this crappy planet. One more exhausting performance. Do you think the Sweet Del ... The Warrior will be here tomorrow? I don’t even want to think that it might not...Nope not going there.

Absolutely. Tomorrow. I try to reassure her, even though it might not be true. For all I know everyone on board could be dead right now. We’ve got good males and females on that ship. I can’t allow my mind to think such things. It will probably touch down before the end of your performance. We’ll grab those beautiful gowns of yours and make a run for the ship.

Do you really think I need those gowns? I’ll probably never perform again.

You asked what the next fantasy on my list was? It involves those dresses.

Mmmm, tell me.

Nope, I’ll show you. We’ll be back on board the ship. In our room. I keep the thought to myself: Because you’re mine. We’ll sleep in the same room. We’ll be truemates.

I turn over to go to sleep then freeze almost as if I’m paralyzed. A thought has been nagging at the back of my mind since that noxious excursion into the Emperor’s mind, but I couldn’t place it. Now it’s like all the little hints are tumbling into place, and it’s chilling me to my marrow.

When I was rummaging through that madman’s mind something seemed out of place. There was something about the cell next to Tawny’s. His thoughts flicked there several times. But the cell was empty.

Maybe he used to have a captive in there and was still thinking about her, but I didn’t get any images of that. My heart almost stops beating when I realize I found pictures of Grace in his mind. I was paging through his images so quickly, trying to see the broad view, I let the tiny fragments escape into the river of his thoughts.

But now that I replay what I saw and slow the river down, I see there were two distinct times he pictured my Amara . As I stop the vid from running and look closely, I see the pictures aren’t of Grace in a green or red dress, but of her nude.

There is a strong hand squeezing my heart. My mouth is parched. I’ve never felt this level of fear before—even when I was seven and kidnapped by aliens.

The Emperor is a madman, and he wants my Amara in a cell. In his dungeon. Next to poor Tawny who he’s nearly abused to death.

Almost worse than this is the fact that I’m alone on this planet. I’m less than one lunar cycle post Transformation with no comrades, only one gun, and a pitiful set of chainsticks I don’t have the skill to use properly. There’s a good chance everyone on the Warrior is dead. I can’t expect rescue. How can I protect my Grace?

I could be wrong. We could be safe. But we’re not. She’s not. This I know for certain. The one thing in this life I believe I’m meant for is to protect her—and I don’t know how.

My mind is racing like the fastest computer, but I can’t see any way to keep her safe. I’ll try to be clever, to use my abilities, but Quirinus is the most powerful male on the entire planet.

I consider telling Grace, but there’s nothing she can do. It will just make her more anxious and miserable. If she plays badly tomorrow God knows what will happen to her.

Then the thought pierces into my brain. If things go badly tomorrow, I want her to know how well and truly I love her. I have to tell her again that I consider her my truemate. Perhaps it’s something she can hold onto, to give her strength.

Grace

Grace. Grace, are you still awake?

Mmm-hmm. I was almost asleep. Tyree’s voice inside my head sounds different, urgent.

I know the timing is odd, but I wanted to speak to you about something important.

Sure, Tyree. I love talking to you. What’s bothering you?

Nothing’s bothering me, Amara . I just think you should know…

It’s like he ran out of gas. The mindlink is severed for a minute, then reconnects.

I told you the other day when we thought we were going to be killed or separated by the Federation, that you’re my truemate. I haven’t mentioned it since—you’ve been so preoccupied with your performance, but I just feel compelled...

He sounds so serious. I’m now fully awake.

I just need to tell you I’ve known you’re my truemate since before our revolution. I want you to know how important you are to me. I realize I’ve frightened you with talk of truemates. You’ve avoided it since my poorly-timed disclosure. I won’t discuss it again unless you bring it up. But perhaps...there might be a moment when it will be important for you to know...to hold onto the fact that I love you with all my heart, as deeply as a male can love a female.

Tyree, I—

Larian truemates share love, and so much more. I will do anything and everything in my power to make you happy, to provide for you and protect you. I would die for you, Grace.

I stop a moment to consult my heart, which is squeezed in the tightest clench, as I bask in the words this male just said to me. Tyree, I don’t know what to say. That’s certainly the sweetest, most impassioned thing anyone has ever said to me.

I never knew my father. My mom neglected me and allowed others to abuse me, and here the galaxy’s sweetest male just declared his undying love for me. A normal person would be swooning, and groveling, and kissing the ground the Larian walks on. But me, abnormal as I am, I’m figuring out how to tell him I’m not interested.

Did I never have that talk with him? The one I should have had about not getting too close? The one where I tell him I can’t rely on anyone because I discovered early and often that no one is reliable?

I should explain to him I don’t know how to trust. And I should tell him I’m afraid to be dependent on anyone, even him.

My head is spinning when I realize he’s silently waiting for a response. He’s the nicest male I’ve ever known—human or otherwise. How do I tell him he should find another truemate, someone who can open her heart fully to him? Someone who isn’t neurotic and phobic and as fucked up as I am.

Grace, I can tell by your silence that my words weren’t what you wanted to hear. I shouldn’t have said them. I’ll never bring them up again, it was presumptuous of me to divulge them. You don’t have to respond. When we wake up tomorrow let’s pretend I didn’t say those things. Just go to sleep.

Tyree, I’m sorry. I care for you, I do. You don’t understand what you’re asking. I’m messed up, I —I realize he severed the connection and hasn’t heard a word I’ve said.