Page 48 of Tempt

But I am tired of being unfeeling. I am tired of being told the only thing that matters to the Vyastil is perfection. The concept itself is flawed and impossible, and I want freedom for my people.

I want to go back to our roots.

I want to remove the clawed foot that sits collectively on all of our throats.

I just don’t know where to begin, and I feel very alone in this.

If only Luca were in this with me—but I could not put him in danger like that. As of right now, I can’t think of a single force on Erethar or Earth that would make me cross that line and take him the way I want.

We will have to suffer alone.

And I will bear the consequences.

My rooms at the Foundry are my least favorite place on Earth, but I do appreciate that they’re so close to the clinic. It makes the orientation appointments easier, and it allows me a space to shake off the nerves I feel every time I sit in front of a human and explain what they’re getting into.

The lies I feed them taste like ash on my tongue. I feel like a true monster when I see them soothed, knowing that soon enough they will be strapped to a chair and have pleasure forced from their bodies.

Some love it—that cannot be denied. Everest had been nervous and a little afraid, but he also seemed so eager. I could tell he was sheltered. Not all humans are like him.

Some could tell that everything their government and the Vyastil leaders were saying was mostly a lie.

Yes, we provide cures for disease. Yes, we have solved their energy crisis. Food has become less scarce, and droughts and blights are becoming a thing of the past now that we have this exchange.

It was the same offer we once made to the Tarek: our knowledge for the herbs they cultivated. And the moment our leaders found the Tarek’s weak spots, they attacked. The Tarek were more formidable opponents than the Vyastil anticipated, and before this fragile treaty, I think we were losing the fight.

At the time, I was not privy to that information, but I know how to read between the lines. I know how to hear lies couched in carefully cultivated truths.

I do not know that the humans would fare so well if we went to war with them. It’s easier to fool them into thinking that they are acting in their own best interest. But it cannot last forever. The bubble is growing, and eventually, it will pop.

I pass by a few of the guards who nod at me in deference as I make my way out of the Foundry and slide into the backseat of the very large SUV that will take me to my office. My linen coverings hide the worst of my scars, but even today I still get strange looks from the other Vyastil who I know cannot stand the feeling of fabric against their skin.

It took me far too long to get used to it, but the moment I’m alone, I strip myself of each burden and allow myself to languish in my natural state. And perhaps someday I will be able to walk around with my imperfections and not be at risk of losing all respect from those beneath me.

Or, perhaps, there will no longer be anyone beneath me at all.

The thought makes me smile, though I hide it as the SUV pulls around through the back alley of the clinic. I swipe my card at the door, then take the long walk to my office. I take only a moment to collect my thoughts as I pull up the profile of the man who is waiting for me in the conference room.

Zane Brooks. He’s twenty-three years old and comes from independently wealthy parents. His father has never served. He is an only child, and his profile has been red-flagged for inflammatory statements made online about the Vyastil.

He’s not the first red alert case we’ve had. It’s not an automatic worry for me. But we monitor them more closely than others because we will not allow violence in the clinic. Too many humans have figured out how to escape the restraints, and Vyastil have been hurt.

With the human rebellion and anti-Vyastil sentiments growing, we must be cautious. We cannot afford a war.

Not yet.

Taking the tablet with me, I push open the door to the small orientation room where Zephin is overseeing Zane’s exam. He is a very pretty human—a head full of very tightly coiled blond hair and a face that looks much younger than he is.

He glances up at me, his blue eyes wide and staring, then he goes back to his tablet. His brows are furrowed in concentration, and when he bites his lip, both of his cheeks form deep dimples.

“I think I’m done,” he says after a moment. His voice is low and smooth. “Just hit submit?”

I nod, then turn to Zephin. “You may go.”

Zephin’s tightly braided orange hair barely moves as he dips his head in deference, then he turns and leaves, the door closing with a soft click behind him. Now Zane and I are alone, and my tablet pings.

He scored one hundred percent.

“Did you study before you came here?” I ask.