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If nothing else, Victor and his promise to kiss me have taught me that I'm not completely dead inside.
I should really think about how I'm going to move forward with Riffin—or if that's going to happen at all—but I can't seem to focus. Instead, I keep my dreamy gaze on Victor's big form, the annoyed twitch of his tail as I make him do hospital corners on his lumpy bed. I find that tail increasingly fascinating. There's a gap in the back of his pants—his trou, as they call it here—that allows for the tail, and beyond that, you can see just a hint of skin. In the case of Victor, it's that light, fuzzy fur that covers his body. I wonder if he's soft. I wonder…
Victor straightens, his tail flicking madly. He turns to look at me, and his eyes are hooded, the front of his trou tight. The fabric there is tented, and he takes in a deep breath as he looks at me. "Done."
I get to my feet, a little flustered. "Perfect, thank you," I chirp automatically, sinking back into my cheery persona. As I move to inspect the bed, Victor doesn't move. I deliberately step closer to him, and I could swear I hear him sniff. Oh mercy, am I aroused again? Is that what's making him react? I swallow hard.
After he'd propositioned me, I'd returned home that night to find my panties soaked. I realized that Victor must have smelled it, and that probably only encouraged him. I should be embarrassed, or angry that he can tell my emotions by a scent. Instead, it makes my pulse flutter, and I suspect other parts of me flutter, too. It's going to be another soaked panty day when I get home.
Which means the best thing I can do is ignore it. So I move to the bed, touching the thicker, sturdy material of the plas-blanket, and frown when I notice a dark, wet bead of liquid on the material. "What's this?"
"Nothing," Victor says, voice tight. "Is my lesson done now?"
I touch the droplet, and it's warm and deep red against my finger. "Are you bleeding?" I ask, horrified. "Victor, are you hurt?"
His nostrils flare, jaw clenching, and he looks as if he'd like to punch the wall. "It's nothing, Bee."
"It's not nothing to me. Where are you hurt?" Fury rises in my chest, hot and urgent. "Did someone hurt you? Did they come in here with more shock-sticks? Or more collars?" I'm realizing just how vulnerable Victor is. He's agreed to the collar and to go along with things, but the others haven't exactly agreed to play nice. They could be perfect dicks—like First Rank Novis was to Victor when he first awoke—and would receive nothing more than a slap on the wrist from Lord va'Rin.
Heck, they'd probably get a raise from their commander.
I shake a finger at Victor, trembling with anger. "If you don't tell me, I'm going to march right into Lord va'Rin's personal rooms and—"
Victor growls. It's a low, irritated sound, but I'm not afraid. If anything, it makes me want to growl right back at him. Before I can snap a response, he extends his hands, palms up. They're shredded, with myriad scratches marring the surface, along with a few deeper gouges. They look as if they've gone through a cheese grater.
"Oh my god, what happened?" I take his hands carefully in mine, examining them. I'm shocked at the damage, and I'm upset that this happened right under my nose. "What is this, Victor? Are the guards torturing you?" I look up at him, horrified. "Talk to me."
"It's nothing," he growls again. "Leave me alone, Bee."
"Not until you tell me who did this! Victor—"
He leans into my face, his expression furious. "I did this, all right?"
"You?" I squeak, surprised. "What—"
Victor opens his mouth, and then jerks backward, reaching for the collar at his neck. Helpless, I look over at the observation window, and sure enough, one of the guards is frowning, his hand on the control panel. He must have seen Victor get in my face and assumed the worst. "Turn it off," I call. "It's just a misunderstanding!"
The guard frowns at me but does as I ask. Victor grunts, and I know the collar's been shut off again. He glares at the window but stalks away from me, as if he doesn't want to talk.
My heart is breaking in my chest. I don't understand. Why is Victor self-harming? Is it because he's bored? Restless? Miserable in this cage? I've got to fix it. I don't want him hurting himself. "Talk to me," I whisper, taking a step toward him. "Please tell me what's troubling you, Victor. Aren't we friends?"
He doesn't answer me, and I suspect I know why. It's that “friends” word. He's not interested in being my friend. He's made it clear that he wants to kiss me. He wants to experiment with me. He wants to test out his sexuality with me. And…I want that, too.
