Anton's Grace : Sci-Fi Dark Romance (Dark Tales)

by Regine Abel

  “I will be,” I whispered. “From now on, I will always be.”

  Sleep eluded me, but that was fine; I was used to functioning on minimal rest. Images of us dancing together replayed in my head and kept me company. By eight, I was up and about. First order of business; getting rid of that pet cushion. When I first acquired it, I convinced myself it was to put Grace in her place, humiliate her. But the truth was I feared her. The emotions she stirred within my soul terrified me. I avoided kissing her and refused to cuddle in a vain attempt to fight my attraction to her. The shame over my inability to resist the woman I should hate largely fueled my excessive brutality towards her. That knowledge burned like acid in my gut.

  Pulling away from those somber thoughts, I cleared my schedule and canceled Grace’s training with Romero. Another two hours later, Grace’s eyes fluttered open. She squinted at me when I ordered her to remain in bed and brought her breakfast. Per my instructions, the cook prepared her a typical human breakfast she particularly liked; blueberry and walnut pancakes dripping with syrup and a mountain of fresh fruits with Chantilly cream. The pleasure I derived simply watching her devour the food struck me as odd. Once she finished, I carried her to the bathroom for her bath. The baffled look on her face made me chuckle.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “My head hurts. My neck is stiff and hurts a bit too. I’m feeling a little drowsy.”

  Even sick and pale, Grace was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. From her frown and the way she studied my face, she clearly didn’t understand my behavior.

  “I can bathe myself you know?” Grace said, bewildered.

  “I know.”

  “So… why are you?”

  I shrugged. “Because you’re sick, and I want to.”

  Her lips parted as if to question me further, but she frowned and leaned back in the tub. From the way she observed me, I could tell she expected me to grope her while bathing her. Keeping my touches gentle but clinical, I made quick work of washing her. As a selfish treat, I took extra time with her hair. Her confused look was comical.

  I wrapped her in a Braxian-sized fluffy towel. It swallowed her slender body like a blanket. She remained stiff in my arms as I carried her to the bedroom. Her eyes drifted to the corner where her cushion used to sit. She stared up at me, blinking. I sat her at the edge of the bed and finished drying her off. Chewing on her bottom lip, Grace raised her arms to help me slip a sheer nightgown over her head. The silken fabric whispered against her skin. I didn’t bring her underwear – a man could only change so much.

  Using a soft brush, I proceeded to untangle her hair. I loved her long, soft, and lustrous hair. I often wished to be planet-side with her to watch it swirl around her in the wind with the sun glowing through it. Would it bring out the reddish tinge even more?

  “Wha… where’s my cushion?” Grace asked, bringing me out of my musing.

  That wasn’t the question she intended to ask. Though she lowered her eyes as she spoke, I didn’t miss the glimmer of fear.

  She’s afraid to say something that will anger me.

  Shame and remorse clawed at me from within. It hit me how distant she had remained while I fed her, bathed her and even now as I brushed her hair. Before, every time I showed kindness or took care of her, she blossomed under my touch and looked at me with devotion. Grace always hungered for affection. That vulnerability touched something within me. I understood too well wanting to be loved and cared for. But today, she had a guarded look in her eyes and was closing herself off to me.

  “I’ve removed it. From now on, we will share the bed.”

  “I see.”

  My heart sank. I had envisioned a thousand different reactions she might have to this news, but never this cold, indifferent acceptance. Wouldn’t sleeping in a proper bed hold some attraction? Something was broken. Grace had every right to be angry with me for yet another unfair punishment she’d received. Is that why she acted so distant? Was it because I didn’t care for her after I released her, unlike the first time? Fuck that had been stupid. My damn Braxian pride…

  I crouched in front of her so she didn’t have to look up to me. “I’m sorry I punished you. You didn’t do anything wrong and didn’t deserve it. It won’t happen again.”

  Her chin quivered, and she clasped her hands on her lap. “Ok,” she said in a small voice.

  She’s not accepting my apology. I broke her trust.

  “I will never put you in that cage again.”

  She nodded and stared at the bathroom door, past my shoulder. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

  Frowning, I cupped her chin in one hand and gently turned her face towards me.

  “You doubt my words.”

  Her throat worked as she hesitated to answer. “You own me, Anton. You can do what you will to me, as is your right.”

  Grace shivered and hugged herself. I didn’t need to read her mind to know she was thinking back to what happened in my office. My gorge rose at the memory of what I did to her. How could she have looked at me with such affection two nights ago after I’d treated her that way?

  I took her hands in mine, unfolding her arms, and locked eyes with her.

  “What happened on Jeruna is done and over with. The clan is satisfied, the slate is clean.”

  Grace’s hands tensed in my hands and her eyes flicked between mine. I took a deep breath before continuing.

  “I’m sorry that I raped you.”

  The sound that escaped her throat wasn’t quite a gasp. Her hands tightened further around mine, her nails digging into my flesh. I let the silence hang between us while she regained her bearings.

  “A slave is property—”

  “To be used at its master’s leisure,” I interrupted. “Yes, I know the law. That’s how I justified following Braxian protocols. But what the contract says and what the law condones doesn’t change the horror of what I did.”

  Grace shuddered. The haunted look in her eyes told me she was revisiting that moment. I hated that my regrets caused her more distress but I owed her this apology.

  Pleasure barges had very strict rules about rape. After murder, it was the second most serious crime one could commit and the punishment was extreme. To avoid any misunderstanding, couples who wished to engage in dubious consent role-play had to sign release forms immediately beforehand. Masters only needed a copy of their indentured servant’s contract. Legally, a master couldn’t be accused of rape since they had the right to use their slave however they pleased, regardless of consent.

  “Contract or not, I hurt you in a way no man should ever hurt a woman, and it shames me. I cannot undo what I’ve done. But on my honor – what’s left of it – I swear it will never happen again.”

  A couple of silent tears rolled down her cheeks. They clawed at my heart. Her anger and contempt, I could cope with. But her sorrow crushed me.

  “I do not expect you to forget, but I hope someday you can forgive.”

  Grace pulled her hands from mine. Although I deserved it, the rejection cut deep. She delicately wiped the tears from her face with the tip of a finger. I had wanted to do it for her but doubted she would welcome my touch.

  She nodded and gave me a sad smile.

  This felt wrong.

  “Why don’t you yell at me? Cuss me? Slap me? You should hate me right now.”

  She lowered her eyes and shook her head.

  “Why not?” I knew Grace had dependence issues but this felt like too much.

  She took a deep breath then held my gaze. “You stopped.”

  I froze.

  “When it mattered the most, I asked you not to do it and you stopped. I don’t think I could have ever forgiven you otherwise, even with the Denax. But you stopped.”

  Except you shouldn’t have had to ask, to begin with.

  “So what happens now?” she asked, fiddling with the hem of her nightgown.

  “Our contract says anything I want.” Grace held her breath. “I want many thing
s, Grace, but not your pain.”

  She exhaled a shuddering breath. A glimmer of hope seemed to flicker in her eyes but vanished so quickly I wondered if I imagined it. Things were definitely broken between us but I would fix them. I never faltered before a challenge, and none mattered as much as she did.

  “You said I never have fun,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood. That got her curious. “Well, today I’m taking a day off and you get to decide what we do. Though you have to stay in bed and rest.”

  She gave me an ‘are you serious?’ look. I smirked. “Stop thinking dirty, you pervert. I said rest, not sex. You are still sick. In fact, I have to give you another shot in a few minutes.”

  Her face heated and she bit her lips. To be fair, I had somewhat set her up, but still…

  “I get to decide?” she asked.

  “Yes, you decide.”

  “Anything I want?”

  I couldn’t help chuckling. “Yes, anything you want.”

  The glimmer of mischief in her eyes didn’t bode well. I braced for whatever would come my way, already cursing myself for giving her that much power.

  “I want us to watch a movie.”

  That didn’t sound too bad.

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “Which one?”

  “Moonlight over Kigamot Sek.”

  My face fell as her smile broadened. The little minx had chosen the sappiest, most lovey-dovey, tear jerking, sigh-inducing movie ever made. Did I look like I would watch that kind of stuff?

  Cringing, I asked, “Really?”

  She batted not so innocent eyelashes at me. “You did say anything I wanted.”

  I sighed, my shoulders sagging. “As you wish.”

  Grace beamed. I’d sit through a thousand sappy movies to keep that sparkle in her eyes.

  “Let’s watch it now!”

  “I’m afraid not.” She frowned at me, probably thinking I was trying to back out. “It’s time for your shot. Based on the past three injections, it makes you lethargic for at least a couple of hours. We’ll watch it as soon as you come back around.”

  Pursing her lips in a pretty pout, she lay down while I charged the hypospray.

  Grace looked up at me. “So, what did I have? And how did I get sick?”

  That knocked the wind out of me. After everything, I didn’t want to tell her one of the passionate kisses we exchanged either in my office or at Risqué had put her life in jeopardy.

  “You contracted bacterial meningitis. Dr. Farland says you haven’t received any of the standard vaccines. That makes you extremely vulnerable to a number of potentially lethal diseases that are considered cured, like the one you got. As soon as you’ve recovered, we will make sure you get all your other vaccines.”

  Well, I didn’t lie.

  “Damn… okay,” she said, sweeping her hair out of the way to expose her neck.

  Within seconds of the injection, her eyes drooped.

  CHAPTER 16

  Grace

  Five long days passed since my last training with Romero, reconnecting with Marcus, Anton’s punishment and me catching a potentially deadly illness. I was fine now. Dr. Farland gave me a clean bill of health. He still hounded me about getting a slew of vaccines. I wasn’t too keen even though they’d protect me. But my opinion on the matter didn’t count for much. Anton made it clear I couldn’t skip them.

  Making my way to the auditorium to meet Romero, I reflected on the radical changes in Anton’s behavior. First, his unexpected apology. He didn’t strike me as the type of man who apologized often, if ever. It seemed sincere too and I wanted to embrace it… embrace him. But isn’t that exactly how abusive men operate? They hurt you, then apologize saying they’ll never do it again. You let your guard down and bam, they hurt you again. And you come up with crazy reasons why they were somehow justified. I’d been down that road with Paul before. However, nothing can ever justify a man, someone, anyone, hurting me because I displeased them. At least, he hadn’t accused me of bringing it on myself like Paul used to.

  I had a lot of time to think while in that cell. That is, until pain overwhelmed me and the illness prevented any coherent thoughts. William had also given me much to mull over. I better understood Anton’s obsession with work. Success wasn’t merely an ambition for him, it meant his survival. Yet, he already succeeded. What more did he need to prove? Was he just too addicted to his way of life or did he not know how to be anything else?

  I still couldn’t get over Anton giving up two full days of work for me. He fed me, bathed me, and watched sappy romantic movies with me – yes movies, plural. You could see the ‘time to make you cry’ moment coming a parsec away, but I still fell for it. Poor Anton looked distraught as he watched me bawl my eyes out during emotional scenes only to tell him how awesome they’d been. He didn’t get it. But for the duration of the movie, my own problems ceased to exist. It’s so much easier to be objective about other people’s woes. Sure, I shared her painful journey but in the end, I also shared her happy ever after.

  I liked the new Anton. He was even better than first-week-Anton, with none of the occasional cold stares that boded ill. When not watching movies, we talked often. Most of the time while cuddling. Our conversations usually revolved around our respective youths as the future felt like too touchy a topic.

  I learned a lot about his life on Braxia and his mother’s rejection when he tried to connect with her eight years ago. She refused further contact because her husband knew nothing of Anton. When he asked about siblings, she told him she got her tubes tied after birthing him so there would never be another accident. What the hell kind of a woman would say something so heartless to her own child, wanted or not? Anton tried to act indifferent, but I could feel his pain. Although he didn’t admit it, like me, he longed for a family. Anton worshiped his father and ached to get to know his two younger half-brothers. But they were pureblood. Braxian rules prevented them from mingling or bonding.

  Nevertheless, I couldn’t relax and enjoy this Anton. How long would this honeymoon last? What would trigger him next? The thought of him putting me back in that cage filled me with dread. His promise not to do that again only made me worry about what he might do instead. How do you prepare mentally for the unknown? My imagination was my worst enemy. Thinking about what Marcus said had been done to Darla and Steffie spooked me even more.

  Romero arrived at the same time I did. In my joy at seeing him, I gave him a fierce hug which he returned, laughing. As I released him, it struck me that had Anton witnessed this, he could have taken offense. My heart filled with anguish. Although I kept reminding myself to keep a certain distance with Anton, deep down, I clung to hope. In my mind, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of him as my man.

  Before that mess at Risqué, I had convinced myself that once the remaining five months ended, Anton and I would remain a couple. We’d have new rules putting us on an equal footing. However, I no longer believed our relationship could ever be healthy. Giving Romero a hug shouldn’t make me fear Anton might lose it. I missed Marcus, yet wouldn’t dare suggest spending time with him – not after Risqué. This wasn’t the type of relationship I wanted with any man.

  “What’s wrong?” Romero asked, noticing my sudden change of mood.

  “Nothing,” I said, not wanting to ruin our session.

  Romero placed his hands on his hips. “Tsk, tsk. What did I say about honesty?”

  I stuck out my tongue at him. “You said to be honest with my audience. You’re not my audience.”

  “Actually, I said you needed to be honest with your audience and in your relationships.”

  “Nice try, Professor, but we’re not in a relationship.”

  “I beg to differ,” he said, sitting cross-legged in one of the small auditorium’s front row seats. “I consider us friends. Friendship is a relationship. We also have a mentor-student relationship. That’s two relationships meaning you, darling, have to be twice as honest with me.”

  Despite my somb
er mood, his grin was contagious. I sat on the stage, my feet dangling over the edge. The small auditorium contained two hundred and fifty seats. Despite the cheerful color of the seating, the room felt dark and barren, like too many failed auditions had sucked the magic out of it.

  “We’re here for you to train me, Romero, not psycho-analyze me.”

  “Your emotional state impacts your ability to perform. But I won’t pry if you do not wish to discuss it.”

  I did want to discuss it. The past weeks, I felt more isolated than ever, with no one to share my thoughts with. Aside from Marcus, I could never make real friends. But even that was a special kind of relationship. This industry was cutthroat and most girls I met saw me as either competition, beneath them or tried to use me. Guys… well, if they couldn’t get in my panties, they didn’t have much use for me.

  “I just came to the realization that the man I like can’t give me a good relationship. That for the next five months, regardless of our intimate involvement, I must guard my heart so I can walk away.”

  Romero tilted his head. “What makes you think it can’t work?”

  “If Anton had seen us hug, I’m not sure how he would have reacted. It was spontaneous and innocent but he might have gone berserk. No one is more impulsive or spontaneous than me. And yes, you can translate that as I don’t think before acting.”

  Romero smiled, rocking his crossed leg back and forth.

  “That shit gets me in trouble all the time. When I fuck up, Marcus gives me an earful or the cold shoulder. But Anton hurts me. He says he won’t do it again, but I don’t believe it. I don’t want to live in constant fear.”

  Romero nodded slowly, a pensive look on his face. “I agree. You should never accept a relationship where your lover thinks it’s ok to hurt you, whatever the reason.”

  My heart sank. While my head knew this was the right thing to do, it still broke my heart to hear Romero confirm it. Somehow, it made it more final.

  “That said, not every crime warrants a life sentence if it’s the first offense.”

  “It wasn’t the first time,” I said, looking away.