Page 26 of Bred By Sor'en

Darkness pulses within me again, deep and swirling. It whispers horrible, cruel things. “It is not okay if my mate leaves me,” I growl. My body tenses with the desire to rip her from the floor, to meld our forms, to render her mindless and compliant.

It would be so easy… to keep her docile.

But I like her unbalanced moods. I enjoy her frowns and—

“What if I came back?” Hue’s shoulders shake with the force of her cries, and I want to grab her, but I do not have control.

I cannot.

One mistake…

My mate is human, not Xyrelith. She cannot fight off my toxins; she cannot protect herself. Sheneedsme, but this… rejection, this lethal consolation in my chest aches like a veil blade. My voice is cruel, harsher than I mean for it to be when I speak. “What if I cut a limb from your body, so long as I reattach it later? I could give youeverything,Hue. Credits, life, love, and devotion. Anything you want, but I willnotallow you to leave me. If you hate me for it, so be it. You will not make it off this planet again. I would sooner guide us to the dirt.”

I do not look at her as she scrambles to her feet, bolting from the wasting room. An enraged snarl leaving my throat as my fist finds the unit wall, making rock crumble around my boned knuckles. My body trembles as I release toxins strong enough to wipe out a Bhaurnul army. My rage is not for my mate; only my pain is reserved for her. No, my rage is solely for whatever it is that keeps her affections from me. From that tooth around her neck and the cruel goddesses in the sky.

fourteen

Hue

I am not feeling the things I think I should. Ishouldbe disgusted, choking on hate and venom. Ishouldscream and hit, but I sit in my tent, my face buried in my palms to hide my burning cheeks, to smother the warmth in my chest from the inside out. I’ve been sitting here for nearly two zentics now and have narrowly managed three bites of dinner. This time, a warm, peeled vegetable loaded with some kind of sauce and meat I cannot identify and have no basis for. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted aside from the mushy white stuff, but my nerves and body are painfully hot-wired, jumbled, and crossed in every single direction.

Sor’en has not spoken to me since he showered. I was already in my tent as he stalked out, not even reacting as I poked my head out to watch him prepare my food. My thank you, which I had not truly bothered to give him before, was accepted by anod and stoic milky white eyes. He was careful not to touch me, which lights my chest with irritation. I cannot tell if it is to spare his body from the pain of trying to make more oil or because I… hurt him.

Me, nobody human 74-B, hurt him.

He cares.

Likes me.

Needsme.

It’s an aphrodisiac more alluring than any bonding oil. I hope the ceremony, whatever that ends up being, will fix the oil issues. My skin feels rough and… wrong without it. He sticks his head in long enough to try to grab my plate, which I ask him to leave.

He doesn’t really acknowledge me, offering only a blank. “The vigil will start soon.”

I scramble from my tent toward the cleansing unit, determined to properly wash myself beforehand. His saliva is still dried and tacky between my thighs. I spend the entire rushed shower wishing he’d come through the door and put more there.

He does not, and I get it. Truly, as far as mates go, I’m probably among the worst. And I will break his heart. I’m beginning to think I might break mine too.

No sooner than I step from the unit, its high-pressure water spouts powering off behind me, I hear voices from the front rooms. The dyer kicks to life as I stand there, paralyzed by my indecision, my body blasted with comforting heat I barely feel. My hair, which I usually keep from the dyers to prevent it from looking like some kind of prey’s nest, quickly becomes a lost cause. I’m dressed, standing in front of the door like I was so many solars ago, convincing myself to open it again and step out.

My hand smacks the control, only for my heart to sputter at the sight of my Xyrelith.

My Xyrelith? Yeah, I suppose he is. For now, at least.

“It is time, Draya’la. Some females have come to prepare you at the Veiled Palace. I will follow you there.”

I open and close my mouth a few times before I find the words. Notgoodwords, but words at least. “Will it hurt?” I whisper, my hand fluttering to the tooth on my neck.

His eyes track the movement with empty appraisal. “I am beginning to believe so.”

With that, he turns. “Thank you for doing this.”

“Sor’en, that’s not—"

I nearly yelp as he appears in front of me, swaying with the sudden exertion, before his hands grip my face, his lips slamming into mine. His mouth takes control, and I let him. Relishing the way he commands softly with deft strokes of that familiar tongue. I’m boneless, slowly melting into him when he hisses and jerks away, his chest heaving as that vibration I now know comes from his…memberfills the room. He works his hands as if they hurt. I see why soon after he stalks from the room. Allowing me to dreamily and mindlessly turn to check myself in the mirror. His oil slicks my cheeks, even empty of the warm tingles, and I rub it into my skin. Simply because it's his.

When I leave the bedroom, Sor’en leans against the far wall, glaring openly at the gaggle of females hanging around just outside the threshold. Oddly enough, a deep sense of satisfaction fills me knowing he didn’t allow them inside as I turn away from him.