Page 23 of Protector (Alpha Ties)
TWENTY-THREE
AX2
“W-What?” AX2, still trying to grasp the impossibility that he had a chance at escape and didn’t take it, freezes.
“No woman will respect her alpha if he can’t put her in her place when it’s needed, least of all my Addie. Not being able to give you orders like you’re subhuman should sort her out quick enough.” He puts the tablet back in the satchel and reaches for his drink again.
There is no possible way any of this is real. None. “You’re not afraid I’ll kill her?”
General Thompson’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Afraid you’ll kill your own mate? Nah, son. Not even a little. Besides, much as you might think you hate her, you’ve had the chance to kill her thrice now. And you’ve never followed through.”
The nauseating truth of that makes AX2 down the rest of the liquor and slam the glass back on the table with more force than intended.
Fuck. What is this? Mind games, no doubt. But for what purpose? There’s tension brewing behind his brow bone, and for the first time in his miserable existence, he longs for the mind-numbing solitude of the stasis chamber.
So many questions whirl in his mind, but most of them are too fraught with sharp edges to even think, let alone say out loud.
In the end, he settles on, “Why are you so certain I’m not? Subhuman? Or a machine? I was created to be a weapon.”
His mate’s father scoffs again, leans forward, and pours another measure of alcohol into his glass. “You boys have too much alpha in you to be anything but men. Exceptional men, sure, and yes, weapons. But it wasn’t exactly machines who took care of those prostitutes we brought in, hmm?”
The prostitutes. He remembers Candi’s sweet touches and how he couldn’t bring himself to indulge like his brethren did. “I didn’t.” He doesn’t know why he argues. Is it that he’s trying to force the other man to show his hand—the scheme behind this whole session—or is it that he needs to hear someone else say it enough times that he might start believing it too?
But General Thompson only chuckles again and raises his glass, a silent gesture for AX2 to follow suit. “No, you sure didn’t. Maybe now you don’t have my daughter’s fist around your balls, you’ll finally work out why that is.”
She’s in her bedroom by the time AX2 steps out of the parlor. He feels her like a shrapnel-covered homing beacon on the first floor, awake; agitated.
He takes the stairs two at a time, eager for the tension in their bond to ease and to calm his instinctive need to assure she’s safe with his own eyes.
When he walks into her bedroom, not bothering to knock on the closed door, she’s in bed, leaned against the headboard with the duvet pulled up to her waist. Her torso is covered in the same frilly nightgown from last night, and there’s a scowl on her pale face.
His chest lightens instantly in spite of it.
“What did he want?” she snaps the second he closes the door behind him.
“Hmm.” There are exactly zero ways to honestly answer that question without drawing down her ire, but she already looks like she’s expecting a lie. He decides on a partial truth. “To warn me about you.”
“Ex cuse me?” It’s a snarl worthy of an alpha.
The whiskey is still warm in his stomach, and the sound of her like that— harsh, in command—triggers something scalding lower down. Put her in her place, her father said. When she’s like this, like the unbroken monster she was before, the thought is quite a bit more appealing.
Perhaps it’s the idea that maybe—just maybe—if he decides to give her the firm hand the general recommended, this time she won’t stop him, that has him stalking toward the bed, eyes locked on hers.
“He told me you’re difficult. Cruel. In need of an alpha to keep you in check. He expects me to do the job.”
Her gray gaze widens behind her glasses, but it’s outrage rather than fear that fills it. “Oh, I bet he does! You know, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s secretly thrilled about this whole nightmare. He’s wanted me barefoot and mated to an alpha since I was seventeen.”
She sucks in a deep breath and scrubs both hands across her face, visibly trying to calm down. When she looks up at him again, irritation still simmers at the back of her eyes, but he knows the firm draw of her mouth well enough. She’s back in control.
“Did he mention anything relevant to the meeting?”
“No, ma’am.” Despite the obedient words, heat still curls tightly below his navel, urging him onward. He only stops his advance once he’s at the foot of the bed. “Not a word.”
She narrows her eyes at him, suspicious at this change to his usual behavior.
He continues onto the bed, kneels on it and smirks at the first signs of alarm on her pretty face at his uninvited nearness.
Her mouth drops open. “Are you… Are you drunk?”
He tilts his head, never breaking eye contact. “Can machines get drunk?”
“I cannot fucking believe it!” she growls, shoving the duvet off so she can scramble down to meet him. She staggers to her feet and grabs his face between her hands, using his head to counter the wobbly mattress.
Her fingers are icy against his skin, and a thread of concern burrowing through the heated abandon in his gut makes him flick his eyes up to search her face for signs of discomfort.
She’s frowning down at him, and the second he catches her gaze, she pries one of his eyes wide and stares deep into it. “Tell me, while the esteemed general was plying you with alcohol and discussing how he wants you to turn me compliant with the might of your dick, did he look like he was at all concerned with what it might do to your highly calibrated systems?”
“No, ma’am,” AX2 rumbles, the lash in her voice when she spits the words might of your dick doing absolutely nothing to quell the tightness in his groin. There was a time he’d have been horrified by his body’s response to her, but not anymore. She’s his mate now—however fucked up the rest of the circumstances around their bond, the throbbing of his cock whenever she’s near is how it’s supposed to be.
“I need to take you into the lab, monitor your vitals. I can’t properly measure your responses without equipment,” she huffs, finally removing her fingers from his eye.
“I feel fine.”
“I am not risking millions of dollars and three years’ work on my father’s idiocy. I’m getting dressed, and then we’re going.” She turns to leave, but the mattress wobbles under her shifting weight and sends her stumbling. “Ah!”
He catches her by the hips and yanks her back in place, stopping her fall. “Adelaide. I’m fine.”
Her eyes widen at the sound of her name. He stills for a second too. It’s the first time he’s called her that, even in his own head. No, strike that—it’s the second time. Last night, in the kitchen, he used it too, but he doesn’t think she noticed.
It tastes… odd on his tongue, but as he looks up at her parted lips, at the surprise in her gray eyes and her pretty face framed by wispy locks of less than perfect hair, it finally seems… almost possible to think of her as Adelaide; as a woman with a name.
Judging by the look on her face, however, the thought that he might see her as a person is wholly shocking. He decides to press his advantage before she regains her focus.
“My heart rate and oxygen intake are normal. My reaction time is uncompromised. The only difference to my system is increased warmth in my core and a slight lowering of my inhibitions.” He shifts his grip to her arms and frowns at the chill in her skin. Seems her temperature isn’t just lowered in her extremities. Without waiting for her response, he lifts her off the bed by her arms so she doesn’t stumble on the mattress again, then climbs off as well.
When he throws his plaid shirt on the floor and pulls his tank top off, she sputters, “A slight lowering of your inhibitions? What on Earth do you think you’re doing?”
“You’re cold.” He reaches down to undo the button of his too-tight jeans.
“Stop!” The word cracks through the bedroom, sharp and unmistakably a command.
AX2’s fingers still against the fastening, but… no sear from his chip follows the order. He blinks several times. The general wasn’t lying? He really did disable her control?
The enormity of the situation nearly knocks the wind out of him. He stares at her. She’s wide-eyed and trying not to look at the bulge in his jeans, but with a stubbornly set jaw.
She has no idea.