Page 25 of The Commander

She didn’t move.

Bastian counted, “One.” He breathed in and out dramatically, his hands going to his shirt to unbutton it.

He watched ten different scenarios cross her face, twisting her mouth—not a single thought disguised from him.Should she run? Was this a joke? No clothes? He said he wouldn’t kill me. What’s happening?One thought after another as her legs moved and she slipped to the floor in a clumsy, stiff bodied maneuver.

He took in each quiver and sway of her breasts. Her nipples were the color of flower petals. Tips drawn tight. A flutter crossed the surface of her smooth belly with her panicked breaths. The muscles of her thighs flexed as she stood, turned, wobbled, and finally went for the door to take her chance.

Just lovely.

He kept counting, already to four, by the time she looked at the door. Then, back at him and then to the door—deciding to run. Showing him his own handprint again, the exit squeaked open under her pull on the knob. She dashed, wild and terrified, into the hall.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

He undressed while he counted. Each measured breath was an exercise in control.

The research into this species and their effect on prime battlers had been correct.

This fight was over before it began. He saw that clearly now. Too late.

He wasn’t going to waste time attempting to talk himself out of a luscious inevitable like Kitten. Why bother? He had slicked up good and hot in readiness. Escaping the seam where his body naturally kept it tucked away, his rut swelled his cock to an obnoxious point. It was ready to vibrate and deliver hissemen to her eggs. He’d have to go after her, with a ridiculously full erection, broadcasting his need to mate, to take, to breed.

He would keep his word to her despite the demand riding his ass. Wait until he reached the number twenty. Catching her again was a simple matter. He hadn’t said which room hid the broken door. If she didn’t stumble, if she went straight there, she could make it before he stopped counting. But her confused delay had cost her.

He’d set male prisoners on this gauntlet before, a catch and release and catch again game to break them down.

The red hats could be evaded. But no human survived a prime battler.

He’d memorized Kitten’s smell, ingested it, and broken it down. It was inside him, where he owned the different flavors of it. She’d started the prime battler mating ritual for him, even if she didn’t know it. She could not escape. And she could not hide.

He counted. Waiting. Listening as she reached the end of the hall and made the turn, feeling the vibrations of her progress through the floor and in the air. She was a blaze of frantic red in his mind’s eye.

He heard a door moving. There was no light to see by in the old teaching rooms—not even from windows. Someone had painted the glass black before the Sarrian ever took over the building. Her footsteps went inside the wrong room. Came back out.

Precious time wasted.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

Sixteen.

Another wrong door opened. A sound of denial followed by one of pain as she did something, hurting herself. More time used.

Eighteen.

Nineteen.

Twenty.

“Here I come, Kitten.”

CHAPTER 8 - CARA

Cara ran for her life. For her sanity. Her feet crunched over debris scattered in the hallway. Broken glass, drywall, and other garbage that had been there for years that no one had cleaned up. She took the path through the middle of it, scanning for something big enough to use as a weapon. It was all too small.

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