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I craved comfort; I always had, and I would drink it down even if given by such a man. That did not make me a bad person; it made me a broken one. “You suggested that we take this one day at a time. Today, I found out selling my daughters is the price for the smallest modicum of female freedom. That we will not be given respect simply because we deserve it. We are your slaves.”
“You are not my slave.”
Of course I was. He could do whatever he wished to me, and I could not prevent it. “The fact that I am considering having a child despite strong feelings to the contrary is a clear sign the world is defective, and our kind may not deserve the existence we have been given. Males have learned nothing from the humans.”
Catching my chin, he stole my attention away from the men and made me meet his eyes. “You are not my slave.”
“Really?” He could delude himself all he liked, feign his innocence, and reduce all his behaviors down to biology, but I could prove my point with one request. “I’d like to go into the fog, right now. Were I not bound to your will, I would do that. We both know you will prevent me, claiming it is for my own good. I am not free in the slightest.”
His pupils contracted in a flash. “The fog is dangerous.”
“Have you ever considered I enjoy the danger? I know myself. You can rewrite the story of me in your mind a million different ways, but that will not change I belong in the fog, and you have confined me and will never let me anywhere near it.” The sound of his hearts beating fast under my ear warned me I was approaching a dangerous place. Still, my point had to be made. “Every female here is a slave to her mate’s will. Each one of them knows exactly how horrible the thing is they asked of me. I even think any one of them would do it if the roles were reversed.”
“I would not be so sure. All of them have refused to bear children despite our low numbers and great need.”
He really did not understand why.
Blinking at him, I finally realized I would never fully puzzle him out. Males and females were not the same on any level. It was as if we were entirely different species.
The question now was if males were a parasite, or was there some symbiotic payoff to them having ultimate control?
“What are you thinking?”
To tell him my thoughts would not help anyone, so I translated them into something parallel and honest. “That I appreciate how well you cook.”
An instant shift in temperament came with my confession, Cyderial smirking just a touch. “Distracting me with flattery will not work.”
Trilling my talons over his heart, I smirked right back. “I was making a mental list of ways your subjugation might benefit me. I really enjoy the food.”
“You are not a pet, and you are not a slave. You are not even a wife. You are so much more. You are my mate.” Warm hand working the tension from my nape, he purred, “I see you do not fully understand what that means, but you will, in time.”
“If our daughters were taught these things and treated with respect, they would go into a mating bond and not be as conflicted as I am. If half our species is unhappy, then as a whole, our species is failing.” Lowering my voice, I whispered, “To wake up from a nightmare of assault with the only comfort you’ll ever know offered from the man who terrorized you. Can you understand how awful that is? Those women, maybe most hybrid women… that is their reality. Just because the males have normalized it does not mean it is acceptable.”
“I agree.”
Three beats of my hearts, I waited for him to justify his sins. Hadn’t I heard it already? Even Miranda shared the ugliness of our start to the women at the table with her subtle hint that if I had not pushed him to act, he would not have raped me. But Cyderial did not say such a horrible thing.
My cheek went back to his chest, my eyes scanning a courtyard full of people openly staring and others pretending they were not. “You’re a walking contradiction, and it confuses me. Miranda seems to worship the ground you walk on; others fear you will cause them or their mate harm. You let me grow up under difficult conditions so I might think I was free to make my own choices. Yet took me all the same when the ruse worked. I did think I could be free, until I was not. Now, here I am with my own kind, not even a graduate, addicted and contained, and they are all staring at me as if expecting something important.”
Thumping softly, proud, he said, “When I heard your song, the obsession was instant. Even now, you touching me freely gives me contentment I cannot describe. Trust that nature is wise. I did not waste time on regret that you were only a child. I used the fact to force myself to grow worthy of you. You have had only a handful of days to adjust, and there is so much you may not understand for a while. Explore what is between us, and stop wasting time on quick self-judgment.”
I drew in a deep breath, enjoying the scent of him. He was right. I was already in knots, concerning the fact that pressing against him in that way at that time was comforting to me, and angry with myself for allowing it.
What was the sense of pointless suffering? No one would benefit if I made myself a martyr.
Least of all me.
After a deep breath, I offered something personal, exploring what it might mean. “When I would come into your office, it always smelled so nice in there. I thought it was the flowers, so I would stare at them and appreciate their beauty as I reminded myself that if I could get through the meeting, my life might not be in jeopardy for another year. If I had known the scent I loved so much was you, I might have seen you in a different light. No boy or Watcher ever smelled good. It may have been a sign, like a female’s song. If I had known that, it would have given me perspective to consider you.”
“Loved?” I heard the smile in his voice. “What do I smell like?”
I didn’t want to regret speaking of something deeply intimate, so I simply said, “Warm and sweet. Like cake.”
Softly chuckling, he stroked me from nape to sacrum. “I would note what you stared at longest every time you came, and I’d collect more of what I found you to prefer. That is why there are so many plants.”
An honest laugh bubbled out of me, taking with it some of the tension. “I do like your toxic flowers.” Feeling his fingertips dance up my spine, I asked, “Have any females written journals? Was scent ever mentioned as a precursor?”
He rumbled a lazy response. “Not that I know of.”
