20. Dexari

Chapter 20

Dexari

As I wait for Sloane's reply, an odd warmth spreads through my body, radiating outward from my wound. The heat is almost uncomfortable, and my mind feels foggy, as if I am trying to remember something that is just out of reach.

The connection I feel to Sloane is potent, almost tangible. Yet, my warrior instincts whisper that what I am feeling is not just desire. The warmth and mind fog are worrisome.

"I'll return with you," she finally says, "if I can serve out my punishment as a palace servant."

Her words surprise me. "You wish to be my slave?"

"No. Been there, done that." Her eyes flash with a spark of anger—or maybe determination. "Mornah told me she's your servant by choice, not a slave. That's what I want, too."

Sloane, with her fierce independence, offering to serve in my palace? I did not expect this.

There is no way she is going back with me as anything other than my mate, yet now is not the time to tell her this. Our bond needs to grow stronger first.

Instead of giving her a direct answer, I realize there is so much about her that I do not know, so much I wish to discover. "Tell me about your time as a slave."

Sloane hesitates, her eyes flickering with memories she would rather not revisit. I can see the pain on her face as she decides whether to speak or keep those memories locked away.

Then, as if she senses I am asking as a male with genuine interest, rather than a king demanding answers, she relents.

"You want the grand, overarching theme of my intergalactic slavery experience? Imagine being passed around like an unwanted pet, only the pet is me. And instead of being a cute companion, I'm just a piece of property nobody wants."

I listen without interrupting, concentrating on keeping my foggy mind tuned to her every word.

"I was abducted from Earth…it feels like a lifetime ago. One minute, I was living my best life as a college student, and the next, I was thrown into the world of slavery."

She lets out a bitter laugh. "My first owner thought I'd make a great exotic dancer. It turns out I have two left feet and a talent for accidentally kicking grabby customers. The second one made me a kitchen slave. Let's just say I managed to redefine food poisoning as gastrointestinal apocalypse. That owner sold me as soon as he could leave the bathroom. The third, well, he had more unsavory ideas. I introduced his favorite appendage to my knee before gutting him like a fish with the razor blade his maid used to shave me bare. Down there ."

She does not need to elaborate.

"After that, word got around that I was difficult ." Her eyes harden as she continues. "My next group of owners weren't as tolerant of my behavior and used various types of punishment to try and get me in line. Beatings and starvation didn't work, but some of the places I had to sleep?" She visibly shudders. "Let's just say I'd rather eat a Qzorian toad."

She pauses, seeming to collect her thoughts. "But you know what's really funny? In all that time, through all that crap, the scariest thing wasn't the pain or the humiliation or the hunger. It was the thought that one day, I might stop fighting. That I'd get so tired, so beaten down, that I'd just...give up."

Her eyes meet mine, a fierce light burning in them. "But I didn't. I couldn't. So yeah, I became the most-returned human purchase in space. The ultimate clearance item. But hey," she adds with a wry smile that doesn't reach her eyes, "at least I kept my sparkling personality."

My heart is heavy, weighed down by the hardships she has endured. Her story is one that is likely common on other worlds, a tale filled with deep scars. Scars I had not considered before. This human female, who I thought was fragile and weak, is tough and resilient. A survivor.

Now I understand her instinct to fight my guards. Her request to be a servant, not a slave, makes perfect sense. It is her way of reclaiming her autonomy after everything that has been taken from her.

She is as strong as any warrior and worthy of becoming my queen.

If I could tell her this, I would. Yet the warmth I felt earlier has become a fire I cannot extinguish, the fog clouding my thoughts becoming too thick to voice the words I so desperately wish to say.

I also want to tell her how sorry I am for all she has been through, for her to know how much I admire her fighting spirit. She is forgiven for killing my warrior and wounding my second, yet when I try to say this, my words are unintelligible.

"Dexari?" Sloane's voice cuts through the haze, sharp with concern. I see the flicker of panic in her eyes as she leans closer. "Dexari, what's wrong?"

I am unable to answer.

My vision blurs, the world around me dimming. As darkness closes in, the last thing I see before consciousness slips away is Sloane's beautiful face contorted in fear.