I clench my jaw.
I’m just supposed to keffing help her find a husband? In this nest of criminals and lowlifes? Who think humans are one step above a walking, talking toy? It makes me angry, and the possessive side of me wants to snatch her away and take her home. To drag her into bed and not leave it for days. Weeks, even. These keffing idiots don’t deserve to look at her, much less touch her.
Or marry her.
But what other choice does she have? Piper’s made her situation clear.
5
PIPER
Vordigar’s angry with me.
Actually, I’m not sure if he’s angry with me or with my situation. It’s the same thing. He’s seen how I’m treated in port. He’s seen my praxiian stalker. He doesn’t know that the beast has been to my farm several times in the last month. That he broke my front door once looking for me and it was only because I was visiting Chloe and Jutari that I was spared a rape—or worse. He doesn’t know that I’ve come home to my farm reeking of praxiian piss from him trying to mark his “territory.” Nothing matters because Vordigar’s not staying.
I have to find a new answer, and a new husband.
It’s awful, though. I don’t want anyone else. I want Vordigar and his laughing, teasing face. Vordigar and the protective touch he puts to my back as he steers me through port. Vordigar and the way he treats me—like I’m a person and I matter. I thought I was hardened enough to my situation that I’d be able to pick up and carry on no matter what. That I could find another male to fill the role of my spouse and not be upset.
I am upset, though. I’m just better at hiding it than Vordigar is. I’m running out of choices, and all of them are not as appealing as he is. If only he wasn’t as kind to me, or as attentive, or as protective, this might be easier. Instead, I’m going to have to settle for someone new. Another stranger.
One that probably won’t touch me with kindness.
One that won’t make me smile.
One that, if I’m lucky, won’t abuse me or treat me like I’m less than him.
And I’m going to have a baby with this stranger…because that’s the best option to keep my freedom.
It’s terrifying, but I’m out of options. My only other choice is to hope that the praxiian decides I’m not worth it and fucks off? That won’t happen. The more I fight against him, the more he wants me. That’s how praxiians are—contrary and stubborn and with a cruel streak a mile wide.
I need Vordigar’s help to find me a new mate. A husband. But I can tell he hates the role. We pass people on the street and he glares at them. We go to the tavern and he won’t introduce me to anyone. A friend of his comes up and starts to talk to him, and Vordigar immediately puts his arm around my shoulders and hauls me against him. When the man leaves, he says that he was all wrong for me. Nothing more.
I’m both loving it and utterly worried. I love his attentiveness and how he hovers over me so protectively, like I’m something delicate and precious that needs shielding. If he was going to be my mate, I’d be giddy with happiness. But he’s leaving…tomorrow. And I need a substitute.
When hanging out at the tavern yields no leads, I quietly suggest going back to the jail. There were three men there a few days ago. Surely one of them will be desperate enough to take me up on my offer, even though I shudder inside at the thought. My suggestion makes Vordigar jump to his feet, though, and we pay our tab and leave the tavern, heading back to the sled.
“We’ll figure something out,” he promises me as my air-sled lifts off, heading back toward my farm. And then he grabs me and pulls me into his lap, hiking up my skirts. I’m panting as I pull at his clothing, freeing his cock and then rocking against it.
“We can’t,” I remind him when he positions me to take him deep. “You’ll get me pregnant.” There’s no plas-film in the sled, no protection, and my fertility shot doesn’t lose its potency for a few more days.
Vordigar lets out a snarl of frustration, then buries his face against my neck. He holds me against him, thrusting against my folds until he comes, and then uses his fingers on me until I come, too. By the time we get back to my homestead, we’re both panting and needy and unfulfilled, and don’t come out of my bed until late that night. I get up for a drink of water while he sleeps, my heart aching. I can’t get my hopes up. I can’t get addicted to his touch. He’s not staying.