Tenthil’s hand twitched; he barely resisted the urge to reach for her again.
She collapsed upon the only remaining cushion on the couch and drew her legs up, curling into a ball. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply—her nose wrinkling endearingly as though she’d caught scent of something foul—and released the breath in a heavy, relieved sigh.
Tenthil’s gaze lingered on her, roving over the battle suit and the way it molded to her legs and ass. He forced his eyes away after a few seconds.
Priorities. Food, water, rest. Then plan.
He slipped the backpack off his shoulders, set it on the desk, and opened it to rummage through its contents. Fortunately, he’d thought to grab a few of the easily transportable, ready-to-eat meals that had been stored in the safehouse equipment room. He tore one open and sorted through its individually packaged contents as he walked toward Abella.
“Eat,” he said, the word like molten metal rising from his ragged throat.
She didn’t respond, didn’t move.
“Abella?” Her name seemed to be the one thing he could say without pain, and he didn’t think he would ever tire of hearing it.
He stopped in front of the couch and stared down at Abella, studying her relaxed features and the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He brushed the back of one of his claws over her cheek, caught a strand of her dark hair, and tucked it behind her ear. He tilted his head and traced the top of her rounded ear with the same claw.
Arousal stirred in his belly; it had never truly faded since the moment he’d first seen her, despite the numerous distractions of the last day. Something about Abella had triggered something powerful within Tenthil. He didn’t understand it, didn’t have a name for it, but he knew it could not be reversed. He craved this little terran—his little terran.
Tenthil returned to the desk and leaned against it as he ate. The meal was bland, just like most food the Order supplied its acolytes—it was meant for nutrition, not enjoyment. He folded the empty packages and stuffed them into the outer bag when he was done, placing the garbage on the desk’s surface. After brushing his hands off, he walked to the bedding in the corner and sorted through it, separating pillows and cushions from ratty blankets. He selected the few in the best condition and brought them to the couch.
He dropped the bedding on the floor, keeping only the nicest blanket in his hands, and leaned forward to cover Abella, but paused before doing so. The blanket’s fabric bore many smells, most of them subtle but unpleasant. Instinct drove him to raise the blanket and rub it over his cheek and at the corner of his mouth, where venom seeped from his fangs, adding his scent to the mix, marking it—marking her—as his. He draped it over her carefully before turning to arrange a makeshift pallet for himself on the floor in front of her.
He couldn’t help but feel foolish for succumbing to the instinct as he lay down on his side and rested his head on his arm.
Closing his eyes, he focused on the sound of her breathing, on her scent, letting the latter overpower the other smells in the air until it was the all he perceived. His weariness made itself known, pressing in at the edges of his consciousness. He made no effort to resist; he drifted to sleep within moments.
His dreams were shadowy, indistinct, and instilled with an ominous energy, but they dissipated, leaving only a feeling of unease in their wake, when nearby movement woke him. He slitted his eyes open and watched as Abella carefully stepped over him. Her bare feet were silent against the floor, and even her smallest motions conveyed the controlled grace of a skilled dancer. It wasn’t until she was a few paces away that he noticed her boots dangling from her left hand.
His internal clock told him it hadn’t been more than an hour since he’d fallen asleep. Had she woken so soon by chance, or had she fooled him? He smiled; either way, she was a spirited female, and that only strengthened his desire for her.
Abella stopped at the desk, gently set her boots atop it, and glanced back at him; he kept his body still and his eyes slitted, hoping the poor lighting would mask his wakefulness. After a few seconds, she turned her head forward and opened the backpack.
She withdrew the extra blaster—the one he’d taken from her was still tucked away in Tenthil’s belt—and slipped it into the holster on her hip. She opened the bag wider and peered inside. Her tongue slipped out and wet her pink lips; despite everything, it only made him yearn to taste her again.
After closing the bag, she glanced toward him again, slowly looped the straps over her shoulders, and picked up her footwear. She crept toward the door, only pausing to pull on her boots when she stood immediately in front of it.
Tenthil guessed this wasn’t the first time she’d attempted an escape.
She shifted her attention to the control button beside the door and lifted her left hand. It was there she hesitated; she knew the door was loud, knew it would wake him, and was likely building her nerve for the inevitable chase. Her other hand fell to grasp the blaster.
He couldn’t allow this to go any further. Rolling onto his front, he flattened his hands on the floor and pushed himself up, silently getting his feet beneath him. He stalked toward her. Even now, he couldn’t help admiring her lithe figure, her dark hair, her smooth skin.
Tenthil came to a stop immediately behind Abella. Her attention remained on the control. She drew in a deep breath and moved her hand forward.
He caught her wrist before her finger touched the button. She gasped, body tensing as he spun her around to face him. He dropped his right hand over hers, preventing her from drawing the blaster any farther—she already had it halfway out of the holster.
She lacked training, but she possessed natural speed and instincts that could be honed into something dangerous, given the opportunity. She was the sort of being in which the Master might have chosen to invest.
He pried the blaster from her grip and tossed it aside. Before she could pull away, Tenthil released her hand to loop his arm around her waist and pull her close. She bared her teeth and struggled within his hold as he wrestled the backpack off her shoulders, dropping it at their feet once it was free.
“Let go of me!” Abella kicked his shin with her boot, reached up, and grabbed a fistful of his hair. She yanked on it.
Tenthil snarled and grasped her wrist, pressing his thumb, perhaps too harshly, against the tendons between the bones of her forearm. She cried out and loosened her hold on his hair. He shoved aside the pang of guilt that struck his chest—it wasn’t enough to overpower the excitement thrumming through him in response to her fight—and spun her around again so her back was against his chest.
She screamed. The sound was high-pitched, filled with fury, frustration, pain, and only a hint of fear.
He banded an arm around her torso, trapping her arms against her sides, and clamped his other hand over her mouth.
Abella thrashed against him, clearly unwilling to give up her resistance despite its futility.
He said her name. She responded by using what little freedom her arm had to punch him in the groin.
Tenthil grunted; the pain coalesced low in his belly, but his entire body tensed for a moment, tightening his hold on her rather than easing it.
Growling, he lifted her off her feet and stepped forward, forcing her against the door with his body. He caught both her wrists, raised them over her head, and pinned her hands to the door. When she tried to kick again, he caught her leg between his knees and twisted his hips away from her, moving her primary target out of reach.
“Fuck you!” she spat. “You’re just like him! Just let me go. I just…I j-just w-want to go.”
He pressed his cheek to her hair, positioning his mouth near her ear. “Go where?”
“Home. I want to go h-home.” She sniffled, her back shuddering against his chest as she sucked in an unsteady breath. “Someone out there can help me, someone—”
“No one out there will help you,” he said. “They will buy you, sell you, hurt you, kill you. A
nything but help.”
“There are other humans out there! A terran embassy. I heard people talking about it in one of the clubs Cullion took me to. The embassy would help me. You could take me to them. Please.”
Tenthil clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring. “No.”
“Why?” Her voice shattered, breaking under her anguish, and her body trembled against his. “Why are you doing this?”
Tenthil pressed himself more firmly against her as though that could ease her pain—even though he was its current cause. “Only I can protect you. We are hunted.”
He brushed his nose over her hair, drawing in her scent; even this place couldn’t overpower it.
“But if it’s an embassy, they—”
“You are mine,” he growled. The thought of anyone taking her from him roused that uncontrollable fire inside Tenthil, making his fingers itch with the urge to lengthen his claws and draw blood.
“I’m not yours.”
“You are.” He brushed his lips over the soft skin of her neck, making sure to keep the sweet venom from overflowing his mouth. His balls ached not because of her blow but due to desire—the drive to lay his claim on her, to mate with her, grew with each passing second, reaching new heights of urgency. He shifted his hips forward, pressing his pelvis against her back, and he knew she felt his need by the soft gasp that escaped her parted lips. “You are mine, Abella, and I must keep you safe. I will.”
“I’m not a belonging, a thing, a pet.” Despite the defiance in Abella’s words, her voice was small, and her body eased.
“No,” Tenthil said, “but you are mine.”
He released her wrists and slid his palms down her arms, wishing his they were gliding over her skin instead of the combat suit. Gritting his teeth against his need, he placed his hands on her hips and guided her away from the door, stepping toward the couch. She walked with his guidance, though she lacked her usual grace and confidence. He tightened his grip and stilled her when she moved to climb back onto the sofa.
She looked back at him with tired, narrowed eyes. “What?”
With the toe of his boot, he spread the blankets on the floor, widening his pallet. He drew her down with him as he lay on his side. Wrapping his arms around her, he tucked her body against his, back to front, and pressed his face into her hair. He inhaled deeply, and something in his chest rumbled contently. Despite her stiffness, she fit against him perfectly.
She squirmed, and a shudder wracked him as her backside rubbed his hardened shaft. She sucked in a sharp breath and tensed, barely breathing.
“Sleep, Abella,” he said as softly as he could. However much he wanted to take her at that moment, they needed rest.
Priorities. Rest, food, a plan to move forward…
But part of him insisted Abella was his only priority.
Seven
Abella woke with sore, puffy eyes, a painfully full bladder, and an incredibly hard, rather large cock pressed against her ass. She’d been well aware of it when he’d shoved her up against the door before they’d gone to sleep and had remained aware of it when he lay down behind her. It was difficult to ignore.
Despite her anger, dismay, and sadness, her body had reacted to him. The press of his shaft through their clothing, his closeness, the security in his embrace, the way he buried his face in her hair, and his soft, warm breath against the back of her ear had all affected her deeply.
Though she’d lain awake for some time after they settled down, her sleep had been the most restful she’d had in four years. It frustrated her to no end. She should’ve been furious, should’ve been fighting him, should’ve been planning another escape attempt—not getting aroused because he smelled so damn good.
She was pathetic. Weak.
And horny as fucking hell.
It’s not my fault. I haven’t had sex in nearly five years, so it’s only natural… Isn’t it?
Why wouldn’t her body react when an attractive male looked at her, touched her, and held her the way Tenthil did?
“You’re awake,” Tenthil said, his raspy voice sending tingles across her skin that gathered to create an intriguing sensation in a spot she’d rather not have thought about.
His hand, which rested low on her stomach—very close to the spot she was trying to ignore—flexed, and he pulled her closer to nuzzle his face against her neck. His lips parted as his mouth caressed the sensitive skin of her throat, skimming up until it settled beneath her ear, over her pounding pulse. He licked. The hot, wet flick of his tongue lit the fuse leading straight to her core. Her sex clenched, and it took everything within her to keep from making a sound and pressing her ass back against his cock.
Thankfully, her stomach chose that moment to profess its hunger, rumbling long and loud against his hand.
Tenthil stilled, lifting his head. His hair brushed over her neck and cheek. Abella had never been so grateful for an interruption in her life. Despite everything, she’d been seconds away from letting him go further, from begging him to slide his hand lower.
“I need to pee,” she said quickly, pulling away from him and sitting up.
He released his hold on her without a fight and scooted back as he sat up, affording her some precious space.
Using the edge of the broken-down sofa as support, Abella pushed herself to her feet. She ignored the throbbing between her legs and cast a quick glance around the room. “Um…where do I…”
Tenthil raised a hand a pointed at a partially open door toward the back; based on its angle, it wasn’t going to close without being wrestled back onto its tracks. She hurried over to it and peered inside.
A light beyond the doorway flickered on, likely triggered by her movement, to reveal a dirty, cluttered bathroom. Like every bathroom she’d seen in this city, it contained several strange fixtures she couldn’t identify. She didn’t spend any time trying to imagine the alien anatomies they were meant to accommodate.
She looked over her shoulder. Tenthil had risen, and now stared at her silently. His hair was slightly mussed, his eyes hooded, and his cock’s shape was prominent through his pants. She swallowed thickly. Even the scars on his cheeks only enhanced his sexiness, adding a wicked, tantalizing touch to his appearance.
“Does this door close?” she asked.
He shrugged and shook his head at the same time, turning his palms upward.
“You’re no help,” she muttered, turning back to the bathroom. She stepped inside, wrinkling her nose as she tip-toed through the mess; thankfully, she still wore her boots.
She found what appeared to be a toilet in the far back corner—a tankless oval bowl jutting from the wall. Were it not positioned so low, she might’ve mistaken it for a second sink with a missing faucet. Leaning forward, she peered into the bowl, bracing herself for the discovery of some new, grotesque horror.
Surprisingly, the bowl was empty—and oddly clean, especially compared to its surroundings.
Abella turned her back to the bowl and positioned herself in front of it. “You’d better not peek!”
To her startlement, she heard Tenthil’s soft footsteps retreat from near the doorway. She’d never heard him come any closer.
Her cheeks warmed. “Oh my God.”
Four years without the luxury of privacy should have killed any modesty or shame Abella once possessed—she’d constantly been washed and dressed by attendants to meet Cullion’s standards, and had always been stripped naked in front of Cullion’s guards when she was disciplined. Nudity had become a common state of being. Outwardly, she’d maintained her dignity and pride, but now that she thought about it, she realized she’d always been ashamed beneath the surface. She’d always felt violated.
With Tenthil…it was different. She didn’t feel shame—at least not like before. Part of her wanted him to see her, wanted his eyes on her body, drinking in her form like he’d just crossed a desert and she was a cool, refreshing stream.
She kept her gaze on the bathroom entrance as she shoved down her p
ants and precariously sat down. Her relief was immense and immediate.
A few seconds after she finished, the bowl flushed on its own. Abella started; the sound hadn’t been loud, but it had been unexpected. Automatic flushing was old tech, even back on Earth, but it didn’t seem like anything should’ve been functional in this place.
She twisted to look over her shoulder but couldn’t find any switches or sensors—nor could she find anything with which to clean herself.
Just as she was about to stand up, a spray of cold water blasted her crotch.
She screamed, leapt off the bowl, and turned to face it. Water continued to spray from the front edge for a second longer before ceasing.
Tenthil’s form appeared in the doorway at the edge of her vision.
Abella’s eye’s widened, and she quickly dropped her hands to cover herself. “I’m fine!”
She cringed at the water trickling down her legs.
His shadow lingered for a moment, as though he were considering whether to enter anyway, before he retreated.
“Damn thing crotch shot me,” she said, glaring at the bowl as she tugged up her pants.
She moved to the sink and looked at herself in the cloudy, cracked mirror. Her hair was a tangled mess, her eyes were red from exhaustion and tears, and she’d lost weight. Raising a hand, she touched one of her slightly sunken cheeks and frowned.
She’d worried about her weight so much back home, always stressing about keeping off the extra few pounds that would’ve somehow made her unfit compared to the other dancers. Now, she’d kill to have a double cheeseburger with all the fixings, fries, and a giant chocolate milkshake.
Tenthil doesn’t seem to mind.
Abella felt her body flush. She glanced at the doorway; he was nowhere in sight.
What am I going to do about him?
His claim on her was no different than Cullion’s had been, and yet…something about the way Tenthil said mine was wholly unlike the way her former master had asserted his ownership of her. Tenthil’s claim meant something more. He didn’t seem to see her as a thing to own, as a pet, but rather as…
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