Page 36 of The Thren's Fated

Screl wrapped a tentacle around each of her arms, pulling them to her sides and holding them there so he could enjoy the unimpeded view once more.

“Do not hide yourself from me,” he growled as all four of his eyes meandered over her.

A third tentacle brushed her cheek, then traced a sensuous line down her neck and toward the center of her chest. Despite how much she wanted to hate him, there was a comforting warmth that spread from the touch.

Had she already gotten used to the strange Thren, no longer cringing at the rubbery appendages? Had she ever cringed at them?

“You wished to have a job, right? Well, tonight you will be serving drinks to my officers.”

The growing warmth turned to an icy chill as his words sank in, though she tried to remain calm. Surely there was no ulterior meaning to that, was there? Look what had happened to the human who’d grabbed her ass. There was no way he’d let anyone touch her like that.

“Oh, and what does that entail?” she asked as he released her, though his hand reached out to grip her own.

“There is a barrel of Thren ale ready for you to serve,” he said, pulling her toward the door as Dronzal followed. “That is all. My officers are better behaved than the humans on your space station.”

She didn’t want to be reminded of the handless privateer, but Screl’s assurances relieved her. Evidently, she wasn’t about to be passed around like some sort of group sex toy.

He said nothing more as he led her down the hallway, her heart pounding in her ears despite the relative simplicity of what he was asking. A part of her would much rather be alone with him, though she supposed he was doing this because it was what he thought she wanted. Just like he had thought she’d wanted a man’s hands to be cut off for simply touching her.

As if reading her mind, Screl turned and smiled down at her, giving her hand a squeeze.

“I want you to be happy here.”

What did that even mean? He’d given her no choice, and yet he wanted her to be happy about it? If this were just about sex, wouldn’t he have given up already?

Of course, it’s not just about sex. It’s about power. He doesn’t care about you. He’ll dump you like everyone else as soon as you give in, as soon as you let him fuck you. Or else, he’ll get tired of waiting and take you whether you want it or not.

Lena sucked in a breath, trying to push the thoughts aside and focus on getting through one thing at a time. As they stood in front of a silver door, she reminded herself that no one was allowed to touch her. She wasn’t a sex pet, but a bartender. All she had to do was smile and deliver drinks.

If she played along, would it be enough for him to let her go?

She doubted it, but no part of her wanted to be on his bad side.

Screl pressed a tentacle to the wall, the door whooshing open with a burst of air, and he gave her a gentle nudge, forcing her into the room. She glanced around wildly, trying to put on a smile, but probably failing to look like a normal, happy human.

There were a handful of officers, each one of them raking their gazes over her like a medical laser scanning for injury. Dronzal hustled past her and Screl, grabbing a gleaming silvery tray with mugs of Thren ale from a table and bringing it to her.

Lena dutifully took it, balancing it carefully and waiting for Screl to take one. He gave her a smile when he did, nodding to the rest of the Threns, some seated and others mingling about the room.

With a deep breath, she made her way around the dimly lit space, trying not to trip over her dress as she offered a drink to each officer. All of them took a mug and were eager to converse with her, much like many of the customers at the bar, excited for someone to listen to them. Some of them complained about not being able to return to Botune, and she realized that it had to be because of her.

Why else would Screl avoid returning to his homeworld?

When her tray was empty, she set it down, instead hurrying around to refill mugs two at a time after Dronzal showed her how to use the tap in the corner of the room. It felt almost normal, like she’d been hired for some private event and not kidnapped in the middle of the night, and the monotonous activity kept her mind off other things.

It was nice to stretch her legs, and even some of the conversations weren’t so bad, the officers being perfectly polite and pleasant as she served them drink after drink. Dronzal gave no indication that the ale should stop flowing, so Lena kept serving, even as glowing eyes glazed over and words became slurred.

Screl was having a hushed conversation with one of the officers in the corner as Lena chatted awkwardly with a Thren sitting on a couch, his eyes wandering over her in a way he’d been too polite to do a couple of drinks ago.

“As I said before, it has been a long time since we were on our home planet. So long since I’ve seen my mate,” the officer slurred, and she nodded along, trying to smile.

Suddenly, one of the officer’s tentacles brushed against her skin, his eyes going wide at the contact. Before she could pull away, he was dragging her onto his lap, his face inches away from hers.

“You are a pretty one, aren’t you?” he asked, the whisper sending a shiver of dread down her spine.

“I think you should let me go,” she said, trying to squirm out of his grasp.

She wasn’t so much worried for her own sake as she was for his. She glanced at Dronzal, who just shrugged, though her tentacles were stiff with tension.