ALYVOS

Her strange words make me pause. Of all the sexy, enticing things I imagine her saying…those are not anywhere on the list. I pull back. “What?”

“Kiss me,” Iris says, leaning in.

“That’s not what you said.” I gently pull back from her, studying her lovely face. I don’t even care about the scars—they don’t mar the beauty of her features. “What do you mean, make it so no one buys you?”

“I…nothing.” The grip she has on my shoulders becomes desperate. “Please, let’s just leave it be.”

This isn’t like her, though. Iris never mentions being a slave. It’s like it’s easier for her to compartmentalize that part of her life and move past it. So for her to bring it up means that something has pushed it into the forefront of her mind. “Was this what your nightmares were about? What brought them on?”

Her hands clench in my tunic. “Just promise me that I’m safe here.”

I can feel her trembling. “Of course you’re safe.”

She nods and holds herself stiffly for a moment before letting her shoulders slump. For a moment she looks exhausted and fragile, and I wonder again what brought this on. “It’s just a bad dream,” I tell her, stroking a hand down her arm. “I’m here and I won’t let anyone touch you.”

“Thank you,” she says, hiding behind her politeness again. But she lies back down in the bed and pulls the covers tight against her body.

I reach out and caress her cheek, and she grabs my hand and presses her mouth to my knuckles. “I'm sorry about kissing you.”

“Why are you sorry? I liked it.”

“I just don't want things to change between us.” Iris's low whisper sounds full of fear. “I don't think I like change. Not anymore.”

I can't deny that I don't want things to change between us—I want more from her than just friendship—but now is not the time to push, especially when she's so fragile. I'm worried, though. This flash of vulnerability isn't like her. Not when she's used to hiding everything behind a polite smile. I want to haul her into my arms and stroke her hair until this fear of hers eases, but I'm not sure she'd welcome my touch. Even now, despite that fierce kiss, she's pulling away.

I pull the blankets against her shoulders and tuck them along her body. “Let me undress and I'll join you in bed.”

She nods and I strip my clothes off, distracted by concerned thoughts of the human so close by. I've never thought of Iris as truly fragile until tonight. Mentally strong, yes. Delicate but with a steel core. Damaged but made stronger for it. Tonight, she doesn't seem like any of those things. She seems smaller, terrified, and it pulls at my heart.

I want to help my mate, but she won't let me…and she doesn't even know she's my mate. I think of the way she offered herself to me, and it leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Not just because of the words she used—make it so no one ever buys me again—but because I was tempted.

Lost in my own thoughts, it takes me a moment to realize she's addressing me when she speaks. “Do you ever let strangers on the Fool?”

“Strangers?”

“Like…customers. People that you work with for jobs.” Her body is tense.

“Rarely. This is our home and we prefer no one invade it unless we want them there.” I shrug off my tunic and toss it into a nearby chair, then pull off my belt and kick off my boots. “Besides, we don't trust our clients enough to invite them into our home. We do our business in cantinas.”

“So no one would find me if I never left the ship?”

Is that what this is about? Who does she think is going to find her? I sit down on the bed next to her and gently reach out to touch her shoulder. “Iris, who do you think is looking for you?” When she doesn't answer, my frustration and concern grow. “I can't help you if you can't trust me, love.”

Her expression is utterly calm for a long moment, so long I think she's not going to answer me. Then, she lets out a long, shuddering sigh and reaches for me. I touch her fingers with mine and when she grips onto my hand tightly, I realize she's trembling. Hard. “I was listening to the bands while you were gone and I heard his name.” Her voice is a mere whisper, as if even speaking of this terrifies her.

“Who?” She just needs to say his name and I'll keffing kill him, whoever it is. Anyone that inspires this much terror in my female is not going to draw breath much longer.

“Lord Unto.” The name means nothing to me until she shudders and continues. “He's the one that was going to buy me. The one that had me blinded.”

Then I know, and my heart fills with rage.