Page 37 of Rebel Fates

“I don’t understand,” she says, imploring me to explain with a crinkled brow.

As I approach her, she flings up her hands to block me and flinches. “What are you doing?” she asks, fear clear in her voice.

I narrow my eyes. This defensive reaction appears engrained. Someone abused her long before the slavers.

Holding the flesh regeneration stimulator in my hand over her damaged body, I explain, “This device will help mend your flesh.”

“Why are you healing me?” she asks.

The human has a right to be suspicious, but still I’m irritated that she thinks so little of me. Though, I haven’t been welcoming, so can I blame her for wondering?

The procedure will hurt, but giving her pain medication is not an option, not in her condition. She’s been playing with death a few times, and that’s just today.

Maybe she will learn to stay put if she understands there are consequences to her sneaking around. I wonder again about Serrat’s fear that she’s an assassin. I doubt this clumsy female could be a threat like that, but her lurking around the ship isn’t making her look entirely innocent.

If anything, she’s likely toaccidentallykill us all by clicking the wrong button.

I gruffly answer, “I’m healing you because my alpha wants it done.”

She glances suspiciously at the door. “Why did you close the door?”

“Because I don’t want your screams to echo throughout the ship.”

17

PUNISHMENTS

GEMMA

Rok’s statement about my screams makes my blood run cold. He wants my screams for himself, locked inside this small room.

He’s a sadist. I know it. I’m familiar with men who like to inflict pain. He might not like it if I can handle it.

Even though he protests the others touching me, his hand takes my arm, holding my wounded flesh together. His demeanor is detached—professional. He triggers the hand-held machine. A beam of light strikes my open wound.

It burns like fire.

I whimper, but I refuse to scream.

My flesh being soldered back together hurts like a butane lighter to my skin. I try not to squirm. Sadly, I’ve endured pain like this before.

Instead, I focus on his strangely gentle touch rather than the instrument stitching up my skin. The contrasting warmth of his hand somehow calms me.

He works efficiently, but I have a glossy sheen of sweat on my brow. My breathing is ragged.

Between every application, I suck in a breath. With each approach, he seems to touch me with more and more consideration. Maybe he feels bad that it’s hurting me so much? I concentrate on his steady hand, now caressing my flesh.

There’s a euphoria after each painful application is done. Each mending feels like an eternity, then there’s an intense sensation of relief. It must be like what gets people off with S&M spankings and punishments. I’m having a lot of conflicting sensations running through my body. I’m weirdly turned on by his touch.

An intense pressure and wetness builds between my legs. I just hope Mr. Grumpy doesn’t notice.

“Your pain tolerance is higher than I expected.” He raises a brow, seemingly impressed.

A subtle scent of cloves suddenly wafts over me. I wonder if it’s Rok’s scent.

His fingers stroke me after every application now, like he’s trying to soothe me.

I spare a glance at his face, and notice his demeanor has softened toward me.

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