They left her alone in a darkened bedroom, lit only by a single lamp on the bedside table. Silence descended around her like a weight. The sound of voices and music from downstairs had receded as they walked further upstairs and then cut off completely after the door shut behind the Procurer and his Beta goons.

Ianthe cursed the nerves that made her teeth chatter and hands shake. She wanted to be like Casi, happy and casual, content with what the world offered her. But she couldn’t be like Casi, or even like the two girls grinding against each other on the couch, because she was something entirely different.

You’re the doll that wants to be broken.

Because she knew exactly what that meant and it terrified her.

That initial estrous was still seared in her memory. She had barely made it home before the heat cycle peaked and she became a quivering mass of sweat and slick, so desperate to mate that her family had to lock her in her room for three days before the nightmare finally ended.

She had continued taking the alterants, even as it became more and more difficult to find a reputable dealer and they were forced to turn to the black market more often when the registered apothecaries had been exhausted. It had not been necessary for her to suffer a heat cycle after that first, but the possibility of another always loomed over her like a terrible shadow.

Ianthe turned to take in what little of the room was visible in the low light. An uncorked bottle of champagne sat in a bucket of ice next to two glasses. She filled one and sipped at it, more out of a desire to calm her nerves than a taste for the alcohol. Her hand shook so that it was impossible to bring the glass to her lips without spilling some.

So lost in her own thoughts, Ianthe didn’t realize the door had opened until it slammed closed. The sound startled her enough that she jumped, making champagne slosh out of the glass and splash the back of her hand.

It was too dark to see him clearly, only a large silhouette visible against the closed door. She froze in place, waiting for him to make a move forward or in some way reveal his intentions.

The silence lengthened by excruciating degrees. She felt the heat of his gaze on her, even though she couldn’t see it, which made his silent presence that much more difficult to bear.

Her legs trembled, the pressure of his silent regard simply too much. She sank to the floor on her knees and the glass of champagne in her hand hung from limp fingers.

Ianthe did not understand what drove her to speak, but her voice came in a breathy whisper.

“Please, sir.”

“Good girl.”

His voice was unexpected even for an Alpha, smooth and hard like steel dipped in chocolate, but completely without emotion. A shock went through her at the sound. He stepped forward then, moving completely into the small circle of light.

Ianthe had spent her entire life avoiding the attention of Alpha males. And now she was trapped in a room with the largest one that she had ever encountered.

His face was like that of the old statues in the historical park, all chiseled features and harsh lines, softened only by full lips and lashes as thick as butterfly wings. But there was no softness in the rest of him as he loomed large above her with bulging muscles and Alpha aggression. She didn’t have words to describe anything beyond the threat that he posed to her. He wore a dark and fitted suit in the classic style, a sign of the leisure class, but that did little to temper the pure aggression in his form.

“Tell me that you are here to serve.”

His words resonated with something deep inside her. The idea of serving him — whatever that meant — made the muscles of her belly tighten, leaving her gasping.

The Alpha growled. She lowered her body closer to the floor in response, the action borne of some innate response.

“Do not make me repeat myself, little Beta. Or you will suffer the consequences.”

Her heart thudded in her chest as she spoke the words that he wanted. “I am here to serve.”

The Alpha bent towards her and her breath caught in her throat on a harsh gasp. But he only reached to her side and removed the half-full champagne flute from her unresisting fingers.

“No more of this,” he murmured, voice heavy with command despite the low tone.

Ianthe could only stare up at him, unable to breathe much less speak. Waiting.

His fingers touched her face, turning it from side to side, almost clinical in his movements, as his thumb traced the curve of her bottom lip. Her mouth fell open, practically a reflex, and his thumb dipped ever so slightly inside. The intensity of his regard was like basking under the glow lights that mimicked the heat of sun in the slums during the day.

“Quite lovely.” It was too dark to see the color of his eyes but they flashed with a dangerous light. His voice, by contrast, was cold and emotionless. “You will follow instructions without question or hesitation. Is that understood?”

“Yes.” There wasn’t anything else for her to say. Too many credits were on the line for her to play at hesitation. All she could do was pray that this would be over quickly. He simply stared down at her, face expressionless, so she tried again. “Yes, sir.”

He rose and moved past her to sit on the edge of a couch on the far side of the room. She waited, frozen in place and still on her knees, as he settled himself comfortably against the cushions.

“Take off your clothes.”

Ianthe struggled to her feet, embarrassed by the coltishness of her own movements, feeling more exposed than she ever had before. The full sleeves of her negligee jacket were already falling off of her shoulders. She let it slip off completely and drift to the floor.

Faltering, she risked a glance up and found the man staring at her, his gaze hard and unwavering. She immediately dropped her own eyes, able to feel the furious blush blooming on her cheeks. She cursed herself for feeling embarrassed. This Alpha was the one with the deviant desires. He should be the one to feel embarrassed, if Alphas were even capable of such a thing. For her, this was simply a transaction.

The straps of her babydoll negligee were so thin that a hard pull would snap them in half. Her shoulders contorted into an awkward position to get the strap off completely while keeping the bodice from falling and revealing her bare chest.

Ianthe repeated the movement with the other strap and the nightie slid down her body to the floor. She hesitated then, with her arms crossed over her chest in some parody of modesty, lace pooled around her feet.

“Do not stop!”

Abandoning the pretense of virtue, as it would do her no good, she dropped her hands to the waist of her panties and quickly shoved them down her legs. She kicked the scrap of fabric away and stood before him, completely nude.

He did not speak for several excruciating moments as she stood there, naked and exposed. She could hear his breathing — slow, steady and perfectly controlled. As she watched silently, he shrugged out of his suit jacket, folded it neatly in half and laid it on the couch beside him.

“Come here.”

Ianthe walked forward on unsteady legs, wondering what he would do if she collapsed at his feet in a dead faint. He didn’t seem like the type to get off on an unconscious body, but what in the seven hells did she know about it.

Coming to a stop close enough that their legs just barely touched, she wasn’t quite taller than him as he sat, even in the stiletto heels that matched the lingerie. Although it was close enough that their eyes were nearly level, making her legs shake at the intensity in his. Her ankle felt like it would snap in half at any moment.

His gaze roamed down the curve of her body and up again in a slow examination. If she blushed any harder, her body would spontaneously combust from the heat of it so nothing would be left of her but a pile of ashes.

A large hand rose to trace the outline of her hip, close enough that the stir of air from his movement felt like a caress without quite making true contact.

“You will end every sentence with the word ‘sir’. You will call me nothing else.”

He waited, obviously expecting a response.

“Yes, sir,” she breathed.

“In this room, you will do exactly as you are told, precisely when you are told to do it.”

Her voice came on a shaky, hitching gasp. What had she agreed to? “Yes, sir.”

His hand stopped to rest on her stomach, stroking a small circle around her belly button with the tip of his finger. The shock of his touch was a lightning bolt that struck her heart and blazed a trail downward.

“What sort of girl are you?”

She swallowed past the hard lump forming in her throat, barely mustering enough air to speak. “I don’t know, sir.”

“There are only two types of girls — good ones and bad ones.” He palmed the skin just above the curve of her bare mound, touch electric. “And in my experience, one will often disguise herself as the other.”

Ianthe couldn’t respond, words trapped in her throat. Too many things danced on the tip of her tongue. She wanted to shove him away and demand a skycar back to the lower levels, credits be damned. And she also wanted to ask what magic he worked on her that caused the tiny shimmers of heat curling in the pit of her belly. She imagined this sensation was similar to standing on the edge of a tall drop, stomach rising as she imagined the fall.

But mostly, she was just sick with fear that he would discover her true nature and her life as she knew it would end.

None of this was what she had expected it to be.

“What kind of girl is it — do you imagine — that would sell her body to a stranger?”

Her heart pounded so hard in her chest that she wondered if he could see it. “A bad one…sir?”

“And bad girls need discipline above all else, wouldn’t you say?”

A flaming pool of need settled in the core of her body, lapping forcefully at her senses. She wanted to scream at him, rail until he did something — anything — to break this horrible tension and put the torture to an end.

“I don’t know.”

She realized as the look in his eyes sharpened that she had forgotten to add sir. He spoke again before she could rectify the mistake.

“You’ll pay for that as well, I think.”