Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“How did you come to Earth?” I ask.
I hate that I can practically feel my father leaning closer to the screen now, eager for the answers he sent me down here to get, even though I know I will somehow pay for allowing Bothaki to touch me again. At some point, it will happen. As soon as he feels like he’s gotten what he wants from Bothaki and I.
Instead of answering out loud, Bothaki’s fingers wrap around my hands. I’m glad he’s no longer content to simply let my hands sit in his now. His fingers tighten around my hands, and the strength in them makes thoughts run through my mind that I am not accustomed to. His hands trailing along my body, his lips on mine, and his mouth at my ear, calling me his mate. Desire like I have never known rushes through me in a hot wave, all ending up right between my thighs.
What would it feel like to have him—
Before my thought can finish, images fill my mind again. Bothaki in a ship, alarms blaring, him frantically pressing buttons, missiles approaching. It all comes together in moments. He was already having to crash land, but The New Order ever so generously helped that along by firing missiles at him. He sends a beacon, at the last moment, a way for his people to find him. I open my mouth, to ask him if they will come, when they will come, but I think better of it with my father watching. I will figure out a way to ask without the words being clear.
I watch him crash into the water, and I recognize the square he puts on his chest, and understand its use now. I see the soldiers on the shore, and then comes my father, that arrogant smile in place. My own memories come now, of the many times I have seen that smile over the years.
“Gralo?” he suddenly asks.
“What?” I stammer out, yanked from both our memories too quickly.
His eyes look down with a look of concentration on his face. Then, he says, “Father? General, father?”
Can he see my memories, too? He must be able to, to have asked that question when I thought of him. Does that mean he saw all the things I imagined him doing to me? I feel my skin get hot with the flush crawling up my neck and face, embarrassment filling me. But, surprisingly not shame. I don’t think I’d ever have to be ashamed of anything with Bothaki. I remember him only showing me memories, so I release a relieved breath in the hope that he can’t see what’s going on in my mind right now, or what I’m feeling. Although that desire is definitely dampened now with seeing and remembering my father. Which makes me realize I never answered his question. And I make effort to word it as a statement, as if Bothaki did not see my father in my mind, but simply asked me a question.
“General Lockett is my father, yes. You must have guessed because we live in the same home.”
His lip curls, but I can already understand it’s not at me, but who my father is. I agree completely.
“Rayna?”
I tilt my head for a moment before guessing, “Mother?”
He nods.
I can’t help the sadness that sweeps through me. He must see it, too, because the next moment, his hand is on my cheek, the backs of his fingers stroking along my skin. I know my father is watching. I know I’m playing a very dangerous game. I know I shouldn’t do what I’m about to, and yet, I do it, anyway. I lean into his hand, eyes closing as his palm cups my face more firmly, as if he was not sure I’d want it at first. I want it. I want so much more than being in this room could ever allow.
I want him.
From the moment I saw him, I was not afraid as I knew I should have been. Nor disgusted as I’m sure others would have been. I was interested, curious. I wanted to get closer, even though I couldn’t understand why. Then, when I put my hand to the glass where his was, I felt something, a connection I couldn’t explain. Not to an alien who had barely spoken one word to me. But he stayed with me throughout the day, his eyes and body haunting my every thought.
Now, with his hand on me, his memories still filling my mind, it all makes sense. I am his. He is mine. Not in a way anyone could have ever explained to me or made me believe before now. But, irrevocably, unmistakably, I feel it within myself. A bond. Something … other, and more. I want him in every way I can ever have him. I want a future with him, on his planet, away from all the pain and suffering here. Away from men who see me as nothing more than something to obey them. I want to experience all he has to offer.