A smile turned his lush lips upward. “I suppose that’s true enough.”
Miri shivered at the memory of Daahn over her in the corridor on Xxania Hethhh. She stared at those human lips, wondering what they would feel like beneath her sensitive fingers... or on her mating stripe for an extended stay.
As if he knew what she was thinking, his eye slits narrowed and his nostrils flared, his lips parting slightly to bare the tip of his tongue. “Why you?” he asked.
She looked at the closed door, a thousand unkind words ringing in her ears, certain she would be blushing if she were truly human.
“You are weak, Mirienne.”
“If the negotiations were not so important, I would kill you now for your incompetence.”
“You are a hateful thing... weak, unappealing...”
“Mirienne?”
“Do not call me that,” she growled. Miri tensed to fight, wincing at the cut of the shackles into her wrists. She sank back to the wall, forcing her muscles to ease.
Commander Daahn rose, coming face-to-face with her. “Why you?”
“Because I was convenient,” she exploded. “Because, weak as I am, I survived.”
His eye slits widened, then narrowed again. “Weak?”
Tears pricked at her eyes, and Miri blinked them away. Commander Daahn was lucky that he couldn’t cry. “Yes, weak.” She’d always been too weak for Xxanian tastes. Perhaps he was only seen as strong because he was compared to real humans. “Too... human, they said. Not to be trusted.”
Were they wrong about me? That was a question she didn’t want to examine too closely.
Daahn grasped her by the shoulders, turning Miri toward the head of the bunk. She lowered her chin to her chest, preparing for death.
Miri started trilling the death song under her breath, then abandoned it. Surely, the Xxanian Seir-God had forsaken her, and she didn’t know the names of the human gods or how to appease them. Her soul would face the vacuum alone.
One metal cuff unfastened, then the other. She held her position, even when he backed away. Confused, afraid to meet his eyes, her heart pounded so fiercely that her head spun. It was another of her human frailties.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
Her stomach roiled in warning at the thought of food. “No.” Actually, she was ravenous, but she’d bring up whatever she tried to eat, and it would be far too long before another meal would be forthcoming to waste food when she was certain it wouldn’t stick.
“When you are, let the guard know. I’ll leave orders. You eat a Xxanian diet, of course.”
She nodded. Miri wouldn’t recognize a human diet, if presented with it.
“What should I call you?” he pressed.
What was he asking? “Commander Daahn?”
“That’s my name.”
There was a tone in his voice she didn’t recognize. It was akin to a taunt, but different enough that it didn’t stoke the urge to strike back at him. Miri turned to him, uneasily noting his wide smile. She backed into the corner, bracing for attack.
His smile disappeared into an expression of irritation. It was an expression she’d seen often in her life. She’d always found a scowl less threatening than a smile. A scowl meant a simple beating; a smile meant something worse.
“It was a joke,” he snapped at her.
Miri shook her head, at a loss. She’d thought she’d learned English, but there were so many words he used that she didn’t understand: lullaby, joke... How many more would there be?
His expression softened. “You don’t know what a joke is either?”
She chanced addressing him. “No. I don’t.”
“I’ll try to remember that. In the interim, you protested me using your name. What should I call you? Did they call you Johns?”
“Miri.”
“Mary?”
“If you insist.” What did it matter? She was a prisoner. Soon enough, she’d be dead. What he called her was immaterial, as long as he didn’t call her that hateful name.
“Is it your name?” he asked, seemingly perplexed.
“No. My name is Miri.”
“Then why would you accept Mary?” His irritation spiked so abruptly the ridge plates on his forehead and neck raised.
Miri’s breath went choppy at the warning of a Dominant male. Her abdomen ached, a stark reminder of what happened when a Dominant was angry. She averted her eyes, lowering her head in the submissive show, her hands out and palms up. “It doesn’t matter,” she managed to say. “Call me what you like.” The Xxan had, often enough.
“Then why shouldn’t I call you Mirienne?” It was clearly a challenge. If there was one thing a Dominant enjoyed, it was prevailing in a challenge, and no one could mistake that Daahn was a Dominant.
She glanced at his extended ridge plates, noting the way his hair crested over the top of his head, resuming the submissive immediately. He wasn’t mollified. “Call me whatever you like,” she repeated. Please, let my capitulation be enough. If it isn’t... She didn’t know what he’d do, but it wouldn’t be pleasant.
Commander Daahn sighed. She saw his hand rise and peeked up at him. He ran the hand over his forehead, grimacing. His ridge plates eased back slowly, and her breathing eased with them. He was content with her answer. With a Dominant, content was often the best she could hope for.
“It’s been a long day,” he stated. “I believe we both need rest.”
Miri didn’t respond to that. His swinging emotions kept her off balance. Perhaps that is his plan.
He turned toward the door and pulled out his darkened glasses. “Until tomorrow,” he dismissed her. Then he was gone, with a swift knock, a grunt of a word, and a single shaft of stinging light.
She forced her heart rate and breathing to normalize, sliding down the wall to the lush mattress. Miri curled in on herself, as she had when she was a child. As I have every night since that last beating.
That wasn’t something she wanted to consider. The realities of her situation were troubling enough. For the first time in years, Miri allowed herself the solace and weakness of real tears.
Chapter Three
Aleeks speared at a chunk of warm, raw beef, his thoughts and emotions in turmoil.
Miri Johns was a minefield. They’d told her she was training as a negotiator, but her understanding of human nuances was nonexistent. She didn’t understand jokes or lullabies or even compassion and caring.
He paused with the fork halfway into his mouth, realization slamming home in his sleep-deprived brain. The Xxan cared for their young. If anyone knew it, he did.
Then why doesn’t she know it? She was raised by them. She should know it as well as he did.
He chewed at the z’haahn, considering it. Smiles were perceived as a threat. She hated her own name. She’d obviously been berated often.
“Because, weak as I am, I survived.” Convenient...
That was what she really believed her only value was to them.
His appetite deserted him, and Aleeks placed the fork on his plate, kicking himself for missing this all night. How many times had he rolled this problem over and let the obvious slip him by?
She’d been a distraction for them, a human decoy. She’d been trained to fight, in the belief that, when the reversal came, she would protect the Xxan.
How bad was it? His ridge plates had sent her into a panic. His smile had forced her to a defensive posture. She’d taken the submissive at the first sign of his status as a Dominant male.
Questions coursed through Aleeks’s mind. They were questions only Miri could answer.
Determined to have those answers, he took to his feet, turned — and came face-to-face with Jacks.
The lieutenant glanced at the half-full plate, his smile wide. “Off your feed, Daahn?” he teased. “The little lady Xxan getting under your skin?”
He’d lost track of how many times in the last day he’d had to fight his ridge plates back. This time, he didn’t fight it. A
leeks let them extend fully.
Jacks stared at them, his eyes going wide and his face paling. He scrambled back two steps, running aground on another table.
“You tortured her,” Aleeks informed him. “You didn’t even turn down the lights for her when you took your glasses back.”
“She’s a prisoner, Daahn,” he protested weakly.
“Oh? Then I suppose you’d want a cell kept at forty-five degrees Celsius? Or at five? You’d accept it without bringing charges of abuse of a prisoner?”
Jacks darkened, and he didn’t reply.
“Don’t do it again, Lieutenant Jackson. Next time, I won’t be nearly this forgiving.”
“Understood... sir.” His lip curled in disgust at using the title for Aleeks.
That’s right. Remember my rank. I won’t hesitate to pull it, if you try this again. Aleeks forced his ridge plates back and headed for Miri’s cell, punching in the code for the outer door so hard his fingers ached.
He paused at the desk, her situation tumbling around in his mind. “Has she requested food?” Aleeks asked the guard on duty.
“Not on my watch.”
“Check the logs.”
The guard tapped at the screen. “Not at all. In fact, she hasn’t requested anything. Not toiletries. Not a change of clothing. Not food or drinks. Nothing.”
Though he’d expected as much, Aleeks felt his temper rise. This time, he kept his ridge plates fully retracted, but it cost him in effort. “Z’haahn.” No. She’s been raised by the Xxan. “A meat tray... just meat, prepared as I like it.”
“Yes, sir.” Unlike Jacks, there was no disrespect in the term.
Aleeks strode to the door, opening it when the lock clicked, pulling off his glasses as the light behind him disappeared.
Miri lay, curled on the bunk again, her hands drawn up under her chin. Her face was raw and swollen, so much so that he initially thought someone had disobeyed his orders and turned up the lighting.
Closer inspection showed she’d been crying. Even now, she wasn’t still. Tremors racked her body, and her muscles tensed and released.
She murmured a protest in Xxan, then another in English. Her breathing went ragged, and a weak cry escaped her lips.
Her eyes opened, and Miri lunged at him, wild-eyed, hissing a warning. Aleeks turned her beneath him, pinning her wrists to the floor near her head and her hips beneath his. A second cry... one of pain, rattled his nerves.
The door opened, and she squeezed her eyes shut to the light. Aleeks endured it, gauging her responses in her half-awake state.
“Do you need assistance, sir?” the guard asked.
Miri winced, no doubt envisioning punishment for attacking him.
“No. It was my error. Miri was sleeping, and I startled her.”
“If you’re certain...”
She opened her abused eyes, lost again.
By the stars, she has no concept what understanding and kindness are. “I am,” Aleeks replied. “Close the door, please; it hurts our eyes.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll log the incident for you, sir.” The guard withdrew and shut the door, before Aleeks could protest the report.
It’s probably better to let him report it. If I try to stop him, it won’t look good.
Still, there were answers he needed. “What were you dreaming?”
Miri closed her eyes, relaxing beneath him. “The attack.”
“The attack on Xxania Hethhh?”
She hesitated for a long moment, opening her eyes, the slits widened in some strong emotion she’d masked otherwise. “Was there any other?”
Yes, but why won’t you tell me about it? Aleeks eased off her, kneeling on the floor by her feet. “Did I injure you?” He motioned to her midsection, piecing together that she’d cried out when he landed over her.
Miri scurried to the corner where the bed met the wall, then folded her knees to her chest. “No.”
Her eyes called her a liar, but Aleeks decided not to press the issue. A hundred questions fought for his attention. “Who were the three Grea Elders you killed?”
“Uuumaal —”
“No,” he interrupted her. “Who were they to you?”
Her breathing hitched. “The first... was my seir.”
The one who ordered her killed. Her own seir ordered her death.
Damn, he never claimed her. Why wasn’t she named Mirienne Uuumaal?
She waited, tense, adrenaline tainting the air around her. Did she expect him to condemn her for killing the seir who had wanted her dead?
“Go on,” he invited.
“The second was the one that... mixed the genes to create me. Me and the many others who didn’t survive it.”
Aleeks nodded grimly. “You’re not a natural phenomenon then.” He’d suspected as much.
She bristled visibly.
“I only meant that your parents didn’t —”
“No. They never mated. They said my mother chose to... donate to me... to carry me, but I doubt that now.”
“Did you ever meet her?” Aleeks pressed.
“No. I never did. They said she didn’t survive carrying me. She was old by then. It might be true.”
He considered that. “Who raised you?” It was a safe bet that her seir hadn’t.
Miri shrugged. “My trainers.”
“Trainers? What are trainers?” It wasn’t a term his gran-seir had used.
She furrowed her brow, seemingly seeking a translation. Before he could suggest she use the Xxan and let him translate for her, she spoke again. “The ones that taught me. Is there another —”
“No, Miri. Who cared for you?”
“When I was ill, there were physic —”
“No.” Why was this so difficult? Aleeks tried to order his thoughts. “Who... fed you?”
Her expression announced clearly that he’d offended her. “I assure you, I am more than capable of feeding mys —”
“By the stars!” he cursed.
Miri pressed herself farther into the corner, watching him as if for an attack.
“When you were a child, who fed you?”
She shook her head, looking young and lost.
“Before you could feed yourself?” he qualified.
“You remember such a time?” Miri asked.
Aleeks bit back a string of curses. “Did anyone... bathe you?”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She shook her head in a negative response.
“Send you to bed?”
She glanced to the mattress and back, her confusion deepening, if her expression was any indication.
“Comfort you?” he continued.
“I don’t understand. Why should I require comfort?”
Aleeks put up a hand, motioning for a moment of peace. He was getting nowhere; he had to face that she didn’t remember a time when anyone had cared for her as a child was typically cared for. “Who was the third?” he asked.
Miri shook her head, lost by the abrupt change of subject.
“The third Grea Elder you shot?”
She averted her gaze, wrapping both hands around one small foot. “One of my trainers,” she grumbled. “Master S’sie taught me Xxan-Dree.”
“And?” he pressed. “Why one trainer?”
“The next would have been Master Haauulen, my human martial trainer,” she admitted.
“Why S’sie first?”
She peeked up at him, her adrenaline level rising alarmingly, refusing him an answer.
He’s the one she fears most. But why?
A knock on the door broke the tension.
“Come in,” Aleeks ordered.
Miri looked to the far corner of the room, narrowing her eyes but choosing to leave them open.
The tray settled before Aleeks, and he waved the guard away, watching her reactions. Miri’s nostrils flared, and she bit at her lower lip. She shot a look of longing at the platter but averted her gaze almost before he’d noted it. She made no move to take the offered food.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
“I know you haven’t eaten in at least a day.”
“I haven’t eaten in three. What has that to do with it?”
“Your system...” No. It was unlikely. None of the crossbred had eaten on a Xxanian cycle, even the first generation, like Aleeks’s seir. “They only allowed you food weekly?” He’d thought she was thin because they’d fed her only meat. He hadn’t realized she’d been deprived of a proper eating schedule, as well.
“It is how the hunter eats,” she countered. “Hunger makes the senses keener.”
“Hunger weakens you. It makes you sick and —”
“The Xxan didn’t seem weak to me,” she grumbled.
“But you were. You were sickly and weak, off balance as you came due for another meal.” He didn’t question it.
Miri didn’t answer it.
“Their systems are made for that abuse, Miri. Ours are not. Don’t you understand? You aren’t weak. They made you weak.”
Her breathing hitched, but she didn’t reply. She didn’t look around at him or the food.
“Eat, Miri.” Why wasn’t she taking what he was clearly offering?
She glanced at the platter, then locked on his eyes, waiting, tense for a reason he couldn’t put a name to but wished he could.
“You’re refusing to eat?” he asked.
Her jaw tightened in anger. “You taunt me,” she accused. The tears she cursed so vehemently pooled in her eyes, and she blinked, doubtless trying to banish them.
Aleeks worked at that, realization making him ill. “The Dominants ate first. Since you weren’t their young, you ate the scraps they left, as a Subdominant would.”
“The weak eat last,” she confirmed.
Changing her perceptions was going to be harder than he thought. “Not when a Dominant views you as his own.”
Females were never treated the way she’d been raised. They were always fed with the Dominants... instead of the Dominants, when food was scarce. Even young, unmated females were pampered.
Miri didn’t offer an answer to that.
Aleeks moved into her space, and Miri planted her hands on the floor, preparing to strike. He plucked a cube of meat from the tray and tried to offer it. She stared at it, wary.
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