Page 37 of Trained as His Mate

Up until that moment, distantly, where he had heard it, but his mind hadn’t bothered to focus on it, there had been a very loud, rhythmic thud. It was repeating, louder and louder, and had been for some time.

But only then, when he heard the forceful, rapid knocks—four, in rapid succession—did the meaning and the origin of those sounds come to the forefront of his mind.

Quaia’s eyes were swallowed by her pupils in a moment, and a tremor passed through her. She whipped her head toward the door at the same time that the Commissar’s loud voice boomed, in very broken Voklish:

“Captain Torian, it is the Commissar of the High Court of the Imperator. Open door. Arrived to I have inspect human man.”

Even Quaia, who as far as he knew didn’t speak Voklish, smiled. The man’s language was a disaster even to the ears of someone who didn’t speak it.

Their eyes met, and Torian squeezed her hands. His eyes fell closed in frustration, as he tried to control his temper, his wild blood, his Voklha.

“I must attend to this man,” he said, gritting his teeth. A growl rumbled in his throat. “Please,” he said. “It is the most orderly path to our… to my request for you…”

The Commissar pounded on the door again and began to speak.

“Please,” she said, smiling. “Don’t allow him to speak any more of your language. It’s so bad.”

If his human could have understood how her words, her mirth, fed his Voklha, she would not have subjected him to such cruelty. Because now he had to deal with a bulbous bureaucrat with a chip on his shoulder, instead of attending to the only thing he cared about: her.

But this was part of his task. He turned to the door. “Commissar, I speak the common tongue,” he began, and opened the hatch.

The Commissar seemed quite annoyed already, and the reason was easy to decipher. Behind him, High Mother was beaming with malice, straining to peer into the room. No doubt the busybody, mean old woman was hoping to capture a glimpse of Quaia in some humiliating position.

“Captain Torian,” the Commissar huffed, bringing out a small cloth to pat at his bald head. He seemed relieved that Torian had opened the door, and even more relieved to not be speaking Voklish. He was a large, overweight Minghek.

“This human woman,” he gestured behind him with the cloth before bringing it back to pat his head again, “has been very insistent that we proceed with her case—”

“I am the High Mother of the Zoratic Void,” High Mother said imperiously, with a snort. “Not a mere human woman—dear Suns,” she hissed. “What is that girl wearing?”

“It’s a dress,” Quaia offered in a faux cheerful tone. She had moved closer behind Torian, touching him on the back, but in a way that the others couldn’t see.

“Do you see?” High Mother demanded, evidently of the Commissar. “Do you see what I’ve been saying? She’s clothed! What is next in the Seven Suns? I suppose the Imperator will next be telling us there are to be no more Ripenings at all!” She scoffed so loudly it almost sounded like she was choking.

It was evident that the Commissar had been weathering High Mother’s admonishment from the moment of his arrival on the ship. He sighed loudly, making no effort to respond to her.

When she didn’t start up again—for he had obviously decided to let her wear herself out rather than attempt to quiet her, which seemed like good instincts to Torian—he patted his head again. “Captain. It is a strange time to arrive, and an even stranger time to perform this evaluation—”

“Strange times indeed!” High Mother huffed.

“—but I would beseech you to allow this investigation to proceed as quickly as possible. For the sake of all concerned.”

“It’s a marvelous idea,” Quaia declared loudly from behind Torian.

High Mother sneered. “I agree wholeheartedly, Commissar,” she began. “The sooner we can get this injustice and absolute madness resolved—”

Torian straightened up to his full imposing height and cut High Mother off with an icy stare he reserved for his most formidable enemies. He disagreed, as he wanted more time to finish his explanation to his beautiful human. But because Quaia had declared the idea excellent, it was her desire.

And her desires were now his. To ruthlessly make happen. “We will proceed,” he glowered, his eyes on High Mother, “because that is the wish of all concerned.”

All but him. But he no longer counted: only his human did. His will was hers, and if they completed this largely performative task, he would be able to explain this to her. So that in the future, she would understand her power over him, and make her choices carefully.

The Commissar seemed relieved. “Excellent,” he exhaled. His expression relaxed. He looked over Torian’s shoulder at Quaia, though, and a frown moved into his mouth. “In that case—is this the female?”

Torian moved to stand protectively between the Commissar’s gaze and Quaia. It was an action born of instinct, and fortunately for him, the Minghek Commissar was not Voklish, and wouldn’t recognize the signs of his Voklha. Torian’s plan was contingent on the Imperator and his commissions believing that nothing was afoot here, so that he could whisk Quaia away with him after his duties were completed and she was also free of her binds, when no one would be the wiser.

“It is,” he said, quashing a growl.

“This is most unusual,” the Commissar said, perplexed.

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