Page 15 of The Commander

“Who else would do it? An old man? A woman who can barely breathe? Brenda can barely pull vegetables from a garden.”

“The men you were found with,” he pressed.

“I wasn’t found with anyone!”

“No?” Bastian acted surprised, trying to mimic the human’s raised eyebrow look.

She blinked at him, her lips puckering. Was that revulsion?

“I was alone. I realized someone else had been to my traps before me, took my baskets, my snares, all the good twine I’d saved. Everything. I saw paw prints in the dirt, but if I caught something, it was gone too. When I got to the last trap, these greasy, pocked-up wankers came out from behind the trees—they’d been hiding down the slope, I guess.” She recounted each part, her expression telling Bastian that this time she was trying to visualize it and pick out details. An attempt at appeasing him.

“How many?”

“I don’t know. More than five? Less than twenty? There were a lot of them. On foot. I turned and ran. Have you ever smelled a wanker before? Do you know what they do to women? What they all do?”

Bastian watched her lips move. She shook her head as if to shake off the anxious tears that kept dripping out of her eyes and down her face. Terrified of her fate, she tried to swallow over and over, her dry throat not functioning properly. On top of all her spicy fear, the tremulous sight shot to his cock, stiffening his member, forcing a hiss at the squeeze of it.

The vast catalog of her human emotions was quickly becoming one of his favorite things to feast on, each adding flavor to the scents she shed. He could keep her talking in circles, answering the same questions over and over, on the edge of confusion. Winding them both up toward—something.

Something he’d told himself he did not want and would not do. Something that was becoming less important the longer he stayed in this room with her.

“Well, you went out hunting for meat and ended up getting caught in a net. How does that feel? What are we going to do about that? Here you are, all tied up, and here I am. Just an alien and a girl. I still have to search you. Make sure you are telling the truth. What shall we do?” Bastian sing-songed teasingly in her ear.

Expressions flitted across her face like shadows as she sorted through her answers.

“I’ve told you. Over and over. Everything. I don’t know what else.”

She had. He ignored it. “Where shall we start, at the top or the bottom? What do you think? You say you are an innocent, helpless creature, caught by mistake. It’s the fault of all the shittymen in your life. Always someone else’s fault,” he asked as if talking to a child.

“No, no. That’s not it.” She shook her head frantically.

“It’s not? How can I know this? How do I know, really know, if you are a wronged citizen or a rebel? One of those ‘wankers’? You are just telling me stories about Mister Danov and that Andy, but really you were out checking the traps just before dark to take back food to your rebel man and his nasty friends? You were helping them. Going to let them all fuck you.”

He said it to gauge her reaction, but the obscene idea offended him in unexpected ways. He didn’t wantanyone putting their filthy hands on her. That was a possessive thought he shouldnothave.

Her eyes widened and her feet twitched. It looked to him like group sex did not appeal to her. “I wasn’t.”

He shook off the anticipation of feeling more of her skin, exploring her. Sex. There would be no sex. He had to get this done. Though she seemed truthful, things had occurred around his base involving Springfield and his duty, and she was entangled in the middle.

“Females like yourself do not travel alone. It would be very unusual for you to know how to catch your own food. You are young, healthy, and articulate. Not the type to be wandering the countryside after curfew. Females like you use the advantage of the town’s walls,” he pressed.

“There was no one else! I just want to eat. I had good traps. I wanted meat, not a rebellion. I don’t have a husband, a lover, or children. Do you know what this world is like? Who would do something stupid and bring children into it?” No mate? That was very interesting.

Denials escaped from the girl in whines and tears as he reached behind his back for his blade. Poor lost human. All by herself.

He knew a fun way to check her honesty, but it would require closer inspection.

Dressed in his clean uniform with the usual handheld knives tucked in the usual places, he had his showy, name day blade neatly in the sleeve against his spine. He loved to use it for intimidation.

Overbearing in its high protocol arrogance, Bastian kept it nice and sharp. Every prime had the same type of knife, a personal final designation given by Control when they entered formal service. And every prime had a love-hate relationship with the thing.

He held it up for her to see before rolling her to her belly, face down, and carefully cutting into the clothing between her restraints. “You look so uncomfortable. Let me help you with that.”

“No. No. I’m fine. You can’t. Don’t.”

Her protests were adorable. “It’s all right. I don’t mind.”

Her resistance contained a musky additive that wouldn’t be there if she meant what she said. He could smell it. Naturally afraid, yes. But the cute kitten was also a teeny tiny bit excited.

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