Page 25 of The Thren's Fated

“Where is Commander Screl?” Lena asked, her voice only a little shaky.

“He is working. Once you are dressed and fed, I will bring you to him,” Dronzal replied, again with no sense that she would explain further.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, causing Lena to scurry as far to the other side as possible. Her tentacles reached forward, stopping short of contact, and she cocked her head again, though her gaze didn’t waver.

Slow, curious blinking.

Lena glanced around, wondering what she was supposed to do. Calming her breathing was the first step. Screl obviously had a weird infatuation with her. He wouldn’t send in some other Thren to assault her while he was at work, or whatever he did with his time.

“I need to go back to Henios.”

“That is for the commander to decide.”

Lena took a deep breath and scooted herself closer, holding fast to the blanket around her chest.

“Please. I need to go home. I don’t belong here.”

She wasn’t sure what possessed her, but she reached for the Thren. Dronzal shrunk away, retracting her tentacles and quickly darting from the bed.

“That is not my decision,” she assured, shaking her head.

Lena awkwardly climbed out of the bed, continuing to clutch the blanket to her chest. It dragged along the ground as she followed Dronzal. Every step she took toward the Thren resulted in a mirrored step away.

Was Dronzal… scared?

“Take me to him,” Lena said, eyes furrowed in a dark glare when she finally cornered the female against the wall.

Dronzal unsuccessfully tried to make herself smaller, and when Lena reached out, she recoiled again.

Fear… she was scared. Lena gripped a tentacle, the rubbery cylinder warm to the touch, soft and slightly slippery. She could just wrap her entire hand around the breadth.

Dronzal’s eyes grew wide, wider than she’d seen on any Thren before. She made a low groaning sound, and Lena furrowed her brows, her mind racing. Was that a fear noise, or…? She quickly released the tentacle, appalled by her own behavior.

A low hum reverberated through the room as Dronzal glowered, eyes narrowed and tentacles quivering slightly. One actually brushed itself against the spot that she had touched, like the Thren was checking for wounds or something.

Lena stood there with her arms crossed as she waited expectantly for a response. She wasn’t sure if she had crossed a line, but she didn’t really care at this point.

“I will take you to the commander soon,” Dronzal grumbled. “Do not touch me again.”

There was anger in her voice, tinged with fear. Surely, a puny human didn’t scare her. No, it couldn’t be that. It must be Screl that she dreaded.

“Fine.”

Lena looked around the room, not seeing any obvious closets or storage. All the walls were a smooth, gray metal with no indentations or markings at all, save for the two doors, one leading to the bathroom and the other to the rest of the ship.

“I need something to wear.”

Dronzal scooted around her and moved to one of the empty walls. She pressed an unseen button, and a door retracted upward into the ceiling.

With a flick of two tentacles, she gestured to the opening, and Lena peered in, making sure her blanket still covered her bare body. She ran her hand along the soft fabrics, surprised by the mix of pastels and jewel tones. Much cheerier than the drab combat gear that all the Threns seemed to wear.

On closer inspection, Lena realized what was wrong with all of these garments.

“I can’t wear this stuff. I’m not one of Screl’s escorts,” she said, glaring back at Dronzal.

Wait, did Dronzal really just give her blanketed body a once-over? If this were a species that had eyebrows, Lena was sure she would have raised one.

“This is the clothing that he has provided.”