Page 63 of The Thren's Fated

Vottol cocked her head, reminding her of Screl, a wry smile on her face.

“He is the youngest of us. Two hundred and seventy, still a young adult amongst our people. The oldest Threns can reach a thousand years old.”

Lena stifled a snort of laughter, the absurdity that somehow she was the mature one in this arrangement—despite the fact that he was over two hundred years old—was almost too much to handle. She supposed some of his brash decision-making could be attributed to the fact that he was apparently still a young adult.

There was an awkward silence, and Lena was unsure what to say.

“I am certain this has all been a lot for you, but I am so glad you are here,” Vottol said, and Lena quirked a brow.

“Why?”

None of the Threns really seemed interested in humans, at least not beyond Screl. What did her presence at the palace have to do with anything besides making the Sovereign angry?

“Rohieth has been looking for you for a very long time.”

A strange pit settled in her stomach, as if a black hole were opening and ready to swallow her whole.

“What do you mean?”

Now it was Vottol’s turn to look confused, her eyes narrowing slightly, though she maintained her composure.

“You are his fated. Surely he told you. He has been… understandably lost without you. I think I am the only one who believed him when he claimed his fated was a human. But I am so glad you have found each other.”

Lena nodded, letting the words sink in as her mind raced.

Vottol patted her shoulder, giving another gentle smile.

“Take care of him. And as soon as he is healed, make sure you both return to his ship and leave the planet. I can handle the Sovereign.” She paused, glancing down the hallway before eyeing Lena once more. “I hope to see you again someday.”

With that, Vottol was gone, and Lena stood at the open door, dumbfounded. It whirred shut in front of her face, and she turned to Screl, still asleep on the bed. A bevy of conflicted emotions coursed through her, and she sat down on the chair, dizziness overwhelming her.

What the hell did fated mean?

Screl had said they were compatible mates, but she’d assumed that just meant they were two species which could reproduce. But that was not at all what Vottol had said, and Lena scoffed at the idea of her and Screl ‘finding each other’.

The only reason he likes you is that he thinks you’re his fated. He doesn’t actually care about you. He will never love you. How could anyone ever love you? Look at you. So pathetic and desperate that you’d fall in love with a violent psychopath who thinks he has some claim over you.

He’d abducted her from her home, and no natural pheromones or compatible mates bullshit was an excuse for that. He’d cut a man’s hands off and attacked his own officer just for touching her.

Screl was a violent person, and she’d allowed herself to be lulled by the rough way he used her and the tender way he cared for her. None of which made up for his appalling behavior, or the fact that he had only pursued her because he thought it was fate.

It was all a mistake, another big fucking blunder in her life of errors. Always picking the wrong guy, always letting herself be used, always letting hope in even when she knew she was worthless.

Screl stirred, patting the bed erratically, looking for her.

“Are you feeling better?” Lena asked, her voice a low croak.

He turned to look at her, brow furrowed.

“Yes, I am healed, though not back to full strength yet. Threns can regenerate quickly, even after…” he trailed off, clearly still sensitive about what happened with the Sovereign.

Lena tried to shake off the sympathy, remembering her anger.

“What does fated mean?”

Screl’s eyes widened, and he sat up fully.

“Where did you hear that word?”