Page 52 of The Thren's Fated

Lena sat with her legs crossed on the mossy bed where Screl had laid her. He stood over her, an absolute giant from her vantage point on the ground.

The lazy bliss from her orgasm still calmed her, though his commanding presence was stirring something in her once more. She had been so certain he would ravage her as soon as they got out of the water, but Screl just paced for a long while, as if something were troubling him.

Now, he kneeled in front of her, taking both of her hands in his. He seemed hesitant, almost nervous about something, and she looked around awkwardly, unsure what he wanted.

“Lena, did you know that every Thren is given three names upon their hatching?” he asked, his penetrating voice more restrained than usual.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, you know my public name, Rohieth Screl,” he continued. “But every Thren has another name, used only by their… intimate companions. I would like to tell you my personal name, but only if you agree not to share it or use it when we are in public.”

Lena took a big gulp of air, the intimacy stifling her. Despite her lack of knowledge about Thren culture, this was clearly a matter of great importance to him.

“How many people know your personal name?”

She was curious. How close did these companions need to be?

“Very few. I am… different from most Threns. I am the youngest of my siblings, but still a prince to the sovereignty. I was not allowed to make close friendships as a young hatchling, nor into adulthood.”

She tried to take it all in, not expecting these intimate details to come tumbling out of him right now. She squeezed his hands, which seemed to embolden him.

“My father and siblings are the only ones who know. That is all.”

Screl looked at her sadly, gripping her with a crushing force. Was he… lonely? His eyes seemed desperate, erratically dimming and lighting as he waited for her reaction.

“The escorts you brought to the ship?”

He shook his head.

“Absolutely not. As I said, they were an evening of fun, nothing more.”

So why was she different? She’d begun to wonder if all Threns had strange pheromones that attracted humans, though she’d felt nothing when she visited with his officers, not even when one had pulled her into his lap.

Screl’s tentacles surged around his shoulders and waist, stretching toward her, though she was still afraid to answer.

“Well?” he asked, his face solemn. “Can I trust you?”

Somehow, so few knew his personal name, and yet he wanted to tell her. She was a nobody, a bartender, and he was an alien prince, but he wanted to trust her with his secret.

It was absurdly intimate, more intimate than anything she’d experienced with anyone else, and the thought pleased her.

“Yes,” Lena decided. “You can trust me.”

Screl let out a deep breath and pulled her into a hug, his tentacles wrapping around her neck and back as he embraced her. She hugged him back, feeling comforted by his presence, by the confidence he held in her.

“My name is Yavriel,” he whispered against the shell of her ear.

Yavriel.

An oddly delicate name for such a gruff male, but she loved it all the same.

“Yavriel,” Lena whispered back, letting the new name roll off her tongue.

Something clicked into place, like a key fitting perfectly into its lock. Was this how he claimed her? By telling her his personal name? It felt so lovely as it left her lips, and she never wanted to stop saying it, never wanted to forget this moment.

“Yavriel,” she repeated, placing a palm on his cheek, oddly compelled.

Screl hummed as if he was relishing the moment, his skin as smooth as his tentacles and warm to the touch.