His Human Rebel (Zandian Masters 4)

His bed. Exactly where she belonged.

He paused. Should he check on her? No. If he stopped now, he wouldn’t want to leave. Better to make the rounds first and come back. He went to Rok’s office, which served as their headquarters, to meet his guards and assign their duties for the night shift. Rok and his little human, Lily, were nowhere to be found, no surprise there. The two of them spent a great deal of time locked in their sleeping quarters together. Rok had even pierced her with Zandian crystal, marking her as his permanent mate.

A thrill went through him at the thought of adorning Cambry with his gems. He’d do it that night, if he thought it would bind her to him. But their traditions meant nothing to her. He’d be better off buying her as a slave to make himself her master, much as Zander had done with Lamira.

He knew exactly what orders he’d give her, the moment she was his to command. Strip. Kneel. No, maybe not kneel because how would he touch her sweet little pussy if she was sucking his dick? Maybe the first thing he’d do would be to tie her arms and legs wide and spend an entire planet rotation exploring what made her scream in pleasure.

No. Tying her up would be too easy. She liked to fight. Better to hold her down with his body. Or to train her to obey. If you move your hands from this position, I’ll have to whip you…

What he wanted was the assurance she’d be in his bed forever. After his mother’s abandonment, he couldn’t tolerate fickleness. Or flightiness.

His guards gathered, and he handed out assignments, keeping the corridor with Cambry’s closet for himself. Sten hid a smirk, but he immediately quashed it when Lundric stared him down. He counted to twenty-five after the guards dispersed then made his way to Cambry’s closet. The light was off inside. At least, when he peered through the crack, it looked dark. He pressed his ear to the door and listened for the sound of her breathing, but the metal was too thick. He couldn’t hear it.

If she was asleep, he wouldn’t bother her, but if she was awake, she might enjoy a little company. He pried the door open a centimeter then another. He cursed, remembering he’d promised her a lock by bedtime. It was too dark inside to make out her figure on the bed. A flash of movement just behind the door made him throw the it wide, but not before his little warrior had buried a dagger deep into the place where shoulder met chest.

He grunted, restraining his instincts demanding he fight back.

“You stabbed me?”

Her eyes were wide, the whites shining in the light from the corridor. She stood in nothing but her loose, untied tunic—no leggings beneath, a fact that had his brain stuttering, despite his injury.

He grasped the handle of the dagger and yanked it out of his flesh, wiping his blood on his shirt. “With my own dagger, no less.”

“What were you doing sneaking into my room?” Her words held more bravado than her face, which still wore shock. She took a step back into the room, and he followed, turning on the light and shutting the door behind him.

“I wasn’t sure if you were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you if you were.”

Her eyes narrowed, but they flicked to his wound and her brows puckered.

He pulled off his tunic and undershirt, loving the way her gaze riveted, not on the bloody gash, but on the muscles of his chest.

She swallowed. “Here.” She picked up her leggings from the floor, balled them up, and reached toward his wound.

“Wait, don’t use your—”

Too late. She pressed the fabric against the gash. He shouldn’t complain if her leggings got soaked in blood—leaving her nothing to cover those long sexy legs with.

She held the cloth tight, obviously experienced enough to know it took a lot of pressure to stop bleeding. Her effort caused her to lean into him, her breasts brushing against his ribs.

He covered her hand with his.

Her breath lifted and lowered her chest in short bursts. She licked her lips—veck—those lips. “I’m sorry. Should you get medical attention?”

He shrugged. “It’s a flesh wound. Zandians heal quickly.”

Another lick. She was vecking killing him with that little pink tongue of hers. “Well, should I—do you want me to clean it and stitch it up? Stop the bleeding?”

He couldn’t stop the feral grin spreading across his face. Veck, yes, he wanted her little hands touching him. With a rough voice, he managed to mutter, “Yes.”

She must have mistaken his raging libido for blood loss because she said, “Is there a med-kit? Are you all right to stand? Maybe you should sit. I’ll go for help.”

He shook himself. “You’re not vecking going anywhere like that. I’ll get it.” Before she could protest, he shoved the door back open, exited, and shut it tight behind him, still holding her leggings to his bleeding wound.

He managed to get to the medical treatment room and back without running into any other beings, thank the stars. He sure as hell didn’t want to have to explain a knife wound to any of his men or superiors. It would make him look weak and put Cambry in danger of answering to someone else for her actions. Plus, he’d have to explain why he’d given her a dagger in the first place.

He knocked this time, muttering, “It’s me,” before he opened the door.

Cambry had the audacity to grin. “Afraid I’d stab you a second time?” She had the dagger back in its holster on her hip.