Even knowing what was going to happen, it shocked her to watch Gunt’s huge hand shoot out and grasp her throat. Zander surged to his feet, his huge fist slamming down on his work screen.
“You think you’re too good for me, vecking human?”
The hologram flickered off and a second one—the one of her and Gunt that morning—played.
“Repeat.” Zander watched the tidbits one more time. When they ended, he stormed to the door, opened it, and slammed his fist into Gunt’s ugly face.
She sat up, watching in fascinated horror as the prince followed Gunt to the ground, continuing to beat his face with his fists until two more guards arrived at a run.
“My lord, may we help you? What happened?”
He climbed off Gunt and snapped his head to crack his neck. “Take him to a dungeon cell,” he growled.
They rushed in, seizing the unconscious guard’s arms and dragging him off down the hall.
When he turned to her, Zander’s purple skin looked paler than usual, his worried eyes searching her face. He came in, and the door slid shut behind him. His fingers curled into fists at his sides. He dropped them, though, and walked to the foot of the sleeping platform. “Lamira.” His voice sounded strained. He crawled up over her.
She turned her face away. It burned hot with the intensity of the moment. She wanted to hide under the covers, her emotions too raw to meet Zander’s eye after all that had passed between them.
“Lamira.” He tugged her shoulder when she rolled away, then released her. “Lamira, I’m sorry.”
The words sounded larger than the room. They filled the space, filled her.
“I made a...terrible mistake,” he rasped. “Terrible.” Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him rub his face. “I cannot undo it.” This sounded to be as much to himself as to her. He sat beside her, leaning on one arm and gazing down. He stroked a lock of hair from her eyes.
She still refused to turn toward him, feeling too raw, too wronged. Let him feel sorry.
“I will grant you a boon to make amends. What can I give you?” He reached out to touch her again, this time resting his palm on her shoulder—lightly—as if afraid she’d shrug it off.
She drew a breath. The most wicked part of her wanted to make him suffer—to drag out his obvious distress and refuse to allow him to make amends. But the image of the baby flashed in her mind again. That image had changed her. Profoundly.
“Hold me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The way you do sometimes after you breed with me.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. I will grant you a boon—make you a gift, or offer some freedom, as recompense for the suffering I caused you.” He sounded stiff, formal. Like they were at an official proceeding or hearing.
“All I want is for you to hold me.”
Was that moisture in Zander’s eyes? He blinked rapidly and pulled back the covers to scoop her up into his arms. With his back against the wall, he settled, cradling her like a baby.
“Like this?” His raspy voice sounded pained.
She leaned her head on the hard, sculpted muscles of his shoulder and drank in his heat, his strength. This was the male who would be the father of her children. “Yes,” she murmured.
He stroked up and down her arm in a non-demanding way, as he often did after breeding. “Why didn’t you tell me—no, wait—I know you tried to tell me today, but why didn’t you tell me when it happened?”
“I didn’t want to cause any trouble. I’m trying to find my way here—to make friends. To learn to get along in my new home.”
He stilled. “So you have accepted that you belong here? To me?”
Did she accept she was his slave and believe she belonged to him? No. She, like her father, believed humans should be free. But if she had to be someone’s slave...she’d pick Zander to be her master over all others. “I am getting used to it,” she said carefully.
He shifted her on his lap, and she winced at the pressure of her flayed skin brushing against his pants. He froze and lifted her into the air, scowling.
“Call Daneth,” he snapped.