“Excellent.” Bisma was pleased.
Zara hoped Galen would be too.
“You’ll return to your room and await the arrival of the judge.”
After the tattoos were completed, Bisma escorted her back to the room and abandoned her there, muttering under her breath. Zara heard one word: Halos.
Bisma was not an easy person to impress. Would Galen be any easier? Probably not if Bisma complained to him about Zara’s behavior during the inking.
Zara traced the outline of her face in the bathroom mirror. What had happened to her? Somewhere, hidden out of sight, was the woman who’d come to New Ayers Rock. That girl had been full of optimism and determined to prove to everyone, humans and Vendu, that she was a good ambassador for her people. Look at her now. Imprisoned, disgraced, and the property of an alien lord. She’d fucked up.
In a short space of time, she’d undergone an unimaginable transformation both physically and emotionally. A week ago, when classes broke up for the recess and she’d invited her new friends out to celebrate, she could not have predicted that she would be sentenced to a barbaric ritualized punishment involving sex and discipline. She’d had to quickly accept she was quite alone and vulnerable. No Vendu would sympathize with her situation and there were no shoulders to cry on or friends to call upon for advice. Starting with her surrender to a bare ass spanking and continuing with this bizarre inking, her path was now inextricably linked to a man she hardly knew.
She’d no clue as to what had been added to her skin. It seemed to have been something so special it didn’t show up. She peered into the mirror. Perhaps the ink was invisible to human eyes. Unlikely since humans and Vendu were closely related. The ink had to be activated in some way. Would Galen give her a drug that caused the ink to change and appear? What if it was only visible under certain lights, like ultraviolet—would she glow in the dark? She smiled. That could be fun. Then she frowned. She wasn’t supposed to have fun. She was supposed to suffer punishments. Having fun was what she used to do.
One stupid mistake and that was it, locked up. Why couldn’t the policeman have given her a warning and let her off? Back at home in New Phoenix, she’d been cautioned a few times before for over-exuberance when a bit tipsy and she’d gotten away with it. Maybe tipsy was a generous recollection on her part and it might explain while others had different words in mind when they saw her drunk. Party princess, the most frequent name, was fitting and probably the politest reference her friends had created for Zara. She loved to party.
Splashing water on her face, she ignored the miserable face in the mirror. She wasn’t a bundle of laughs anymore and she feared the sad expression might glue itself to her face if she didn’t find the willpower to accept her fate.
Galen would come soon. A brief visit, according to Bisma. He had a function to attend. What would he make of her unblemished, pale skin? Disappointment? Would he cluck his tongue like Bisma? Unlikely. Galen specialized in the beady-eyed stare and growly voice. From nowhere a flurry of butterflies hit Zara’s stomach. Nervous? Excited? She couldn’t decide. What had triggered it was imagining him.
Nothing made sense when it came to understanding her feelings toward Galen. Were there any appropriate feelings? Shame? Angst? Those, yes, but lust. Craving?
No. No, no! Get a grip, Zara.
She had to hide those feelings. Galen must not know that she felt anything like that about him. If he made her hot and horny, she had to resist the temptation to show it. Hands to herself, eyes down, and keep her dignity at all costs.
Finished with washing and brushing her teeth, she draped the largest towel over her shoulders and sat on the bed. She’d nothing to do but wait.
She must have fallen asleep because the next thing she felt was Bisma’s hand shaking her shoulder.
“Zara. Wake up.”
She lifted her head off the pillow. Bisma held the blindfold in her hand.
Seriously! Was she never going to see Galen in the flesh?
“Move. On your knees by the bed. He’s—”
There were footsteps closing. Zara scrambled into position and Bisma slipped the blindfold over her eyes just as the door swung open.
* * *
Galen paused on the threshold to admire the girl on her knees. Her pale skin showed no trace of the inking ceremony. He hoped it had worked. He would find out soon.
“Thank you, Bisma. You may leave us.” He stepped aside to let Bisma pass.
He circled Zara, noting she was breathing rapidly. However, her skin tone had not changed in coloration. His arrival was not sufficient an incentive to awaken what lay buried deep below the surface of Zara’s frail human shell. Hardly surprising. She’d been in his house for less than two days and was probably filled with trepidation as to his intentions toward her. Galen, his shadow falling over her diminutive form, knew exactly what he desired. He intended to go the whole way. But not yet, not tonight. Patience!
He reached down and took her hand, threading his fingers between her trembling ones. Slowly he drew her up onto her feet and allowed her to steady herself before releasing his grasp.
She bit on her lower lip. What did she want to say?
“Zara, what is it?”
“I don’t think the tattoo worked. Sorry, sir.”
He laughed softly by her ear. “No, little human. I’m sure it has worked fine.”