Page 132 of Born for Lace

Now… it’s quiet, but a recognisable scent fills my nostrils… I inhale.

Beaming lights carve through the gaps in my eyelids, forcing me to open them to a familiar room.

The compound.

The air seems to lick every inch of my skin—I’m naked and strapped to a steeply inclined bed, not quite standing but definitely not lying down. My cock is erect and near flat against my stomach. Placed around the room, screens further immerse the white space with lights and the humming of internal fans.

Directly across from me is an expansive, shiny wall that partially reflects my own form. My blood roars instinctively, the sensation of eyes on the other side provoking a predatory response.

Lines stem from my veins to bags of fluid hung on either side of the elevated bed frame.

Gritting my teeth, I curl my hands into fists and test the restraints, growling and snarling when they only tighten, cutting into my wrists.

“It’s been twenty-four years since we last saw you.” A voice comes from behind me. “Zero Zero Six.”

I tense up. “Twenty-five.”

An older Xin De man is circling me, his tongue clicking as his feet rap smoothly. He is near my height, dark-haired, in a white shirt and white pleated pants.

“We barely recognised you, but your blood introduced you,” he says. “And we know your fingerprints, your DNA. It’s nice to have you back.”

He reaches out and grips my bicep, squeezing the thick muscle. Hard. “You’re a big boy now.”

A snarl hits my lips. “Lower.”

“Soon,” he replies easily, and my mouth flattens into a tight line.

For a moment there, despite the restraints, I was still Lagos the Rogue. A construct of the past twenty-five years, not the conditioned beast they engineered before it.

The sixteen-year-old Shadow in me wouldn’t have joked about such a thing. It wasn’t a joking matter. Not that.

He sees the shift in my manner. “Oh, you remember, then? You remember all the ways we will help you focus on your assignment. We don’t need to taunt you. You’re a very impressive Xin De male.”

It doesn’t matter. None of it does. I remind myself as I lick my dry lips, clinging to the subtle taste of her, to the memory of her… At least she is safe.

You’re safe, little flower.

They will believe the Shadow they were chasing was me, not the infant. But then the man smiles— No.Smirks. And I am reminded of my little flower and a ridiculous conversation we had, one that makes my chest ache with need as angry dread sinks claws into me.

Why is he smirking…

“We know,” he says.

I clench my teeth.

“We know about Tomar.”

My heart fucking races.

“We know he has the infant.”

Blood pulses in my temples.

Then he reaches into his pocket. My iron-blood boils as he retrieves small, white knickers. “We know about the girl.”

Rage eats my control. Sparks of energy detonate inside me, firing through my cells, grabbing hold of my muscles and bulking them. I thrash in the restraints growling and hissing, lunging forward toward him, needing to get my hands around his throat and bend it, collapse his trachea so he drowns on the blood pissing from his twisted arteries.

He hums, almost disappointed in what he sees. “You’re very reactive. Too much Common-time in the red waste will do that to a Shadow.”

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