Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
That Etaine had called Morgaine his kor’yr earned her a minor pardon in his eyes. Pride thrumming from her slipped phrasing, Simin crossed his arms over his chest. “And what other wisdom has your Omega Superior deigned apply to my female?” More content which each passing moment, he teased, “Are you having her sweep the floors?”
“She is uncomfortable with the concept of slaves and already declared she would clean her cubicle. But do not worry, the Omega Superior will not allow her unconventionality to extend beyond her private room. She will be taught Omari ways.”
Simin had researched this woman, her military file, her family, who she preferred to take for lovers. “Nierra Psychological Operations translation team lead. You work under Senior Alpha Bishop Amsqin. Do you enjoy that assignment?”
Etaine hesitated, features pinched as if she anticipated a threat to her position. “Yes. PSYOP is very fulfilling. Amsqin’s team influences enemies’ choices, plants ideas in adversaries’ heads, alters perceptions and persuades outcomes. I believe our work was the cornerstone of our latest Nierra overthrow. They surrendered with practically no military engagement. And if you’re asking if I am the only Omega onboard who speaks Morgaine’s language, the answer is yes. All other translators are Beta males.”
“Sounds as if I have an expert on hand to help my mate recover; to lead her transition to this new position.”
A tick came to her jaw, the tick of an Omega who he knew was tempted to point out that Morgaine was not his mate yet. Not until estrous. Not until claiming marks had been made, and certainly not if she never left these rooms. Or maybe that tick was because Etaine understood exactly what he was not so subtly hinting at. A PSYOP operative knew the fundamentals of encouraging the enemy to do as she wished, to winning them over, to mentally repositioning them, as it were. He outright expected her to employ those skills and manipulate the girl. “Sir.”
“I expect you to tell me exactly what my kor’yr requires. I will provide it, not the old woman. And I expect you to correct my mistakes in our communication.”
“You want my advice on how to woo your female?” Such a thing was unheard of; embarrassing for both parties.
Humiliation was nothing to a lifetime without his mate. “Yes.”
“I’ll”—gnawing her lip as she considered, Etaine took steps toward the safety of the golden line—“send suggestions when I update today’s report.”
There would be only one acceptable outcome to this arrangement. Though patient and eager to see her happy, Simin was waging a war. War against an ugly, painful history. War against the women who did not trust him enough to release his mate to him. War against his own expectations. “She’ll find her way back to her mate, and should she get lost, you will gently nudge her back onto the path.”
Etaine didn’t look so sure. Out of his reach, once again in the sanctified space where Simin might not touch her, the Omega translator said what Simin feared the most. “She is very young, sir. Even with constant suggestion, Morgaine might not be ready to mate.”
“Then I will wait, and meet with her in this blasted hall for one blessed hour of each day until she is.”
Chapter 20
Simin Gralloch, Heidron of the fleet, had groomed his hair and left it loose instead of bound at the nape. He had dressed in the leathers of a warrior broadcasting his prowess, displaying battle scars and warning all who saw the swath of oiled flesh of his tried and tested skill. Unarmored to show potential combatants he was fearless, he came bearing gifts.
This was how she had first seen him. This was how she should know him, just as he would learn to know her on her odd Nierran terms.
Uncovered hair was a sign of flirtation. Well, his was flowing down his back, combed to a shine by his own hand. Not a single slave had been invited to prepare him. He had bathed himself, prepared himself, and milked his cock three times before their meeting so the damned beast might lie down behind the breechcloth.
Etaine’s suggestions had been… terrible. The female was not feminine at all.
What kind of woman would suggest offering flowers? They would only die in a day or two. Flawless rubies though, there were so many things that could be done with precious stones.
In an effort to gain at least a little headway, there was a bunch of wilting petals on the tray, dotted with fat rubies to catch her eye. And in the middle of the offering was what he had spent the morning preparing: a pot of gruel and the burnt nutcake Simin had made himself.
After all, it was the duty of an Alpha to feed his mate, prepare meals to an extent, even hunt fresh meat when near a planet that boasted worthy game. But to bake… to stir and season… this was the work of slaves.