Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 76857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
But Cyderial was not going to hang me.
Not today.
Punishment would come in another form.
I’m not sure how I knew it was true, but I did.
The walk ended, his door opening to swallow me up. Into its yawning maw I strode, desperately numb yet somehow vibrating with anticipation.
Functioning from rote muscle memory and not from sense. Doomed.
But hopeful.
The door closed.
“Come,” he said, bidding me forward out of the vestibule and into the office proper. Where he gestured that I should take a seat on the white couch of death.
My hands began to shake, so I turned them into fists. Managing to bend my stiff frame, I took a seat on the end of the soft perch, wary that something terrible was to come.
General Cyderial took the seat across from me, settling back as if this were a casual encounter. And stared.
Not once in all my years at the academy had I seen him casual. His ankle hooked on his knee as he settled into the oversized chair and said nothing.
Simply observed me.
This made me far more nervous than any dressing-down might.
Silence grew and grew, each heartbeat far more uncomfortable than the last, until I let out the breath I had been holding.
Once my lungs were empty, he said, “You had questions about sex.”
I had questions about my sanity to realize I broached the subject, with him of all people.
It was also highly unsettling that he was not behind his huge, tidy desk. There was no buffer, nothing but air between us.
Why was I not standing at attention? I had done wrong. But if he were going to hang me, why indulge my questions? Why invite me to sit?
Moving at a glacial and highly suspicious pace, I mirrored his body language, settling into the couch. Yet I kept both feet on the floor, an advantage should I need to run.
“What is your concern?” It seemed a genuine question; even his expression was searching.
Narrowing my eyes, I said, “Punishment is imminent. I’d like to get it over with.”
He said nothing.
Nervously, I tapped my claws against my trousers and waited.
Still, nothing from the man.
Huffing out a breath, I asked, “You are not going to punish me for threatening an instructor?”
“Should you not be calling me sir?”
No. It felt as if this was not the time for that language. In informal seating, sharing nearly the same eye level. “Not when we talk about sex.”
“I agree.” And he seemed very pleased by what I had muttered. “Ask me your questions.”
The whole thing felt like a trap, but it would be foolish to waste the opportunity.
There were so many things I needed to know if I wanted to be free, but I was unsure where to start. Unsure what the price would be should I be blunt.
Concerned I might rouse his suspicion.
I sucked my lower lip into my mouth, studied my hands, and sighed. “Why should hybrids mate at all? I was born from a human, as most of us were. It seems unnecessary.”
Cocking his head ever so slightly, he considered his answer at length before responding. “Back in the training room, you said you could not help your nature, did you not? Protecting children is innate to your being. Males are driven to fornicate, to give females children when they hear the song. That is their nature. Our nature is to be together.”
But I had no such interest. And confidence in men, I didn’t have at all. “What if males are lying about the song? Something only they sense. Something only they know. How can a female trust that it exists at all?”
Green eyes marginally narrowed, and I felt as if he was recording every last breath I took to memory. “I assure you, the song is very real.”
I did not sense a lie in his answer, but it didn’t give me anything worth using either. “So, men who hear the song are driven to mate a female that may not want to be owned. What if a woman refuses?”
“Submission cannot be avoided forever.” The green of his eyes dulled, the man tensing in his chair. “Make no mistake, we are much stronger than you, Lorieyn, and the song has a power you cannot imagine. That is why procedures are in place to keep young girls safe. Females are delicate.”
Delicate? I was a trained vorec murder machine. I could break a human in half with my forefinger and thumb. But compared to his strength, I was… inconsequential. “So the list is basically consent that a female will allow a stranger to bond them the moment any random male hears her song?”
“Some may see it that way.”
Finding his answer useless, I stared as if I might uncover his secrets and asked, “How do you see it?”
One might have thought he was disappointed by my obvious disgust with the concept, yet he was gracious in his answer. “As hope for the future.”