Chapter 9

GENERAL KOZA

I stand under the hot spray of the cleaning pod, digging into the side of the slick wall with my claws as my other hand grips my aching cock. I choke back a growl as I furiously thrust into my hand.

With one final stroke and a sharp mental image of the expression of Ava’s face as she found her release, I spray my seed into the water and watch it swirl down the drain.

Ava fell asleep hours ago, while I am still trying to work the last of the nectar out of my system.

Or perhaps it has already worn off and it is simply the residual taste of her cunt on my tongue that keeps my cock alert.

Either way, my cock is sore and rubbed raw from the number of times I have taken myself in hand over the course of the night.

“Water off,” I order the system, still bracing myself against the wall.

The warm spray stops abruptly, and I lean my forehead against the side of the pod, rivulets of liquid running down my face as it drips out of my hair and joins the rest down the drain to the liquid recycler.

~Today, I return home. At last.~

My long tour in the company of the High Commander is finally at an end, and I can return to my troops where I belong.

Whenever there are whispers of unrest, he calls his generals together to meet with the top leaders from each quadrant to remind them of their loyalties.

It is happening more often as the years pass. His hold is weakening as the unrest spreads, creeping through the lower tiers of society like vines on the forest floor of my home planet.

The tour is endless nights of opulent displays and arrogant posturing, and it is utterly exhausting. My strengths lie on the battlefield and commanding men, not in soothing the ruffled tempers of pompous lords.

Late nights of banquets with my days filled secretly passing information and orders to the local resistance members means I get little rest in between.

The show of power from the High Commander is usually enough to quiet the loudest of protests, though he should know by now the loudest of voices are the least likely to show any action. It is the ones who voice nothing outright who work behind the scenes.

I know that better than anyone.

I step out of the humid room. Drying myself with the monogrammed linen, I wrap it around my waist and step quietly into the sleeping area.

Ava is still sleeping, curled on her side into a tight ball with both the blankets and the torn remnants of her dress bunched into a mass of fabric around her waist. She takes up such little space on the bed as she sleeps, as if she still needs to fit in the cages of the slavers. My anger flares at the thought of her in that cage for days on end.

As I cross the room to fetch clothing, I catch her sweet scent mixed with the smell of my seed that I marked on her inner thigh. I grit my teeth as my cock responds despite the rawness of its length.

I felt like the worst sort of ruffian as I stroked my cock furiously over her body and spilled on her skin as she came down from her own release. But there needs to be no doubt of our activities last night, and my scent on her skin is crucial.

The High Commander and his men are Thygori, a reptilian race, and their species’ olfactory senses are extremely refined. They use their tongues to taste the air around them in addition to their noses, and they can sense even the weakest of smells.

They would know if I had held myself back from enjoying the High Commander’s gift. Despite her being the one who could reveal my deceit, a growing part of me is ashamed to think of Ava as a spy.

I ignore the urge to wrap my hand around my hard length and instead pull on a simple, black tunic and matching breeches, moving silently into the main room of my quarters. I bind my wet hair into a tight knot as I open a communication to Zynett.

“Yes, General?” comes the immediate answer.

“We depart for Darsherva at dawn, make the necessary preparations, please.”

“Right away, General,” Zynett responds, cutting the communication.

I want to ask if his meeting with our contact at the auction was successful, but we both know better than to discuss any rebel business while on board the High Commander’s cruiser. I trust Zynett retrieved what we needed discreetly, but working to undermine the High Commander with him so near always has me on edge.

It is safest to keep Ava in the dark about my ties to the Multic Rebellion.

The sooner we depart the better.

I open my personal communication tablet, scrolling through the reports from my men back home before responding to the most pressing issues. Most can wait until my return, now that it is imminent.

I hear the rustling of bedding in the next room as Ava stirs.

I set the tablet aside at the sound, running a hand over my face. I am as nervous as a young whelp at the prospect of greeting her after our frenzied joining last night.

I have always abstained from the visits to the pleasure houses other soldiers indulged in between assignments. My lack of experience in mating is something I have never shared, even with my closest brethren.

Now that I have the sweet heat of her in the forefront of my memory, it is all I can do to keep from storming in and begging for another taste, easing her back into the soft blankets and licking her until the breathy moans of her release reach my ears once more.

I grit my teeth and stalk to the food storage, ignoring the pulsing heat of my arousal.

Hells, maybe the nectar runs through my blood even still.

I make myself busy assembling a morning meal for myself and Ava. Keeping my spine rigid and my back to the sleeping quarters, I hear the shuffling of her feet approach and the sweet scent of her fills the room behind me.

Her footsteps stop, but she remains silent as I finish off the last of our morning meal.

I steel my shaky nerves and turn toward her, plates of fruit and morning oats in hand. My mouth twitches as I fight the urge to smile at the sight of her.

She has a blanket wrapped tightly around her body, and her dark hair is a puff of curls sticking out of the top. The makeup the auction house applied over her eyes and brow is smudged down her cheeks, giving her face a ghostly appearance. She’s nothing but a dark shadow peeking out from behind the swathes of fabric.

“You look like a Dorij from the ghost stories the battle trainers used to tell us to keep us in line,” I tell her. Amusement at the memory makes me grin and all sense of my nervousness at facing her evaporate.

She furrows her brow at me, frowning in mock anger. “They are beautiful and graceful creatures, I hope,” comes the churlish response from the depths of the blankets.

I clear my throat, schooling my features into a neutral expression as I gesture toward the table with a food-filled plate.

“Sit, please. Eat.”

She shuffles to a chair, dropping heavily into it. A slender hand peeks out to grab a slice of fruit.

I sit across from her, smiling at the sight, before scooping a spoonful of the warm oats from my own plate.

~A Dorij, a spy, or an innocent. I will soon find out for sure.~