Page 8 of Surrender
“Betsy?” He trailed a finger down her cheek, and she found herself leaning into his hand. His touch anchored her in the moment and the warmth filling his eyes brought her a glimmer of hope.
“I feel fine. Can I sit up?”
He nodded and helped her rise against the padded headboard. “Here. Drink this.” He pushed a mug of something warm between her hands.
“Thank you.” She took a cautious sip.
Tea, sweetened with honey. She closed her eyes and drank more, reveling in the warmth that spread through her body. She hadn’t enjoyed a good cup of tea in ages. Not since the war started and she’d been forced to run for her life.
“I feel silly. I’ve never fainted before.”
She placed the mug on a table beside her and gazed around the room. The furniture was sparse and seemed to be bolted to the floor and walls. She observed a sleek silver desk with a chair, a small table, and three doorways that led to who-knows-where. Breathtaking images of landscapes from the Kall homeworld were scattered throughout, decorating the walls. Two tall windows stood on the other side of the room, but no light shone through them. Perhaps it was night already, or the windows were simply dimmed.
As if sensing her thoughts, Merokk touched a button beside the bed, and the windows blurred for a moment before the sun finally appeared on the horizon of the city, burning orange and pink on the war-torn skyline. “It’s just after five. You weren’t out for long. Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Yes,” Fiona admitted. She was famished. The last real meal she’d enjoyed had been the lunch with her mother two days ago. Since then, she’d been too nervous to eat more than a few bites of anything. No wonder she’d passed out.
“There’s to be a feast in the White House at six, but I prefer dining on my ship. You will join me.”
Fiona said, “Yes, of course,” without hesitation. It was her duty to please Merokk, whether she wanted to or not. If she drew too much attention to herself, someone outside President Carson’s confidence might realize she was a fraud. And if that happened—well, she hated to imagine what horrible fate would befall her dear mother. Both Mr. Combover and Crooked Teeth had evaded the question when pressed.
It seemed she was destined to live out her remaining days in this nightmare, losing her identity in gradual pieces.
Fiona Lockhart might as well cease to exist.
“I hope you find this room comfortable, Betsy. You’ll stay here tonight. The White House is overrun with guests, and I’m afraid I don’t trust your father’s security. But don’t worry, little one, this isn’t my bedroom. I’ll leave you untouched for one more night.”
Heat seared Fiona’s cheeks, and she glanced away. Their wedding night would seal the great lie that would become her whole life. There would be no going back.
Her mother’s face appeared in her mind.
No, there was already no going back.
Merokk grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. Her body began to shake as he leveled a scorching gaze upon her. “I’ll expect you to please me tomorrow night, Betsy. A Kall husband is his wife’s lord and master. You’d do well to remember that.”
The kindness in his voice clashed with the threat behind his words, and Fiona could only nod her assent as a sense of helplessness settled upon her. But even as her anxieties increased, the heated pulses affecting her center deepened.
Not for the first time, she found herself admiring Merokk, and her face flushed as she imagined what it might be like to be bedded by him. Her cheeks heated further when she wondered how compatible they would truly be. What if he was too large for her? Given his great size, she couldn’t help but worry.
Flutters rose in her tummy as he leaned closer and stroked her hair. His dark, otherworldly eyes blazed with heat and she couldn’t look away. For a moment, she thought he meant to kiss her, but he eventually rose to his feet and offered her his hand.
“Can you stand up?” he asked.
“Yes, I really am feeling much better.” She accepted his hand and he pulled her upward, and she flushed all over again at the nearness of his huge, muscular body.
“I am pleased that you’re feeling better, little one,” he said, and that familiar warmth she was starting to like reflected in his gaze. “Come, I will give you a quick tour of my ship before the evening meal.”
She nodded and allowed him to give her the tour. His ship was massive, technologically advanced, and as overwhelming as Merokk himself. The more he showed her around, the more out of place she felt. As they passed a contingent of armed warriors in the corridor, her sense of isolation only became worse. She didn’t belong here. She belonged with her people.
Without warning, tears pricked at her eyes, but she was quick to blink the moisture away, not trusting herself to behave politely if the huge alien warrior noticed and asked what was wrong.
What could she possibly tell him? Nothing even remotely truthful, that was for certain.
She wasn’t supposed to be here, she was supposed to be taking care of her mother. She despised the real Betsy Carson as much as she loathed the Kall warriors who’d conquered her planet.
Frustration welled inside her. She also hated the tingles that swept throughout her body whenever Merokk smiled at her or touched her. Even more irritatingly, his stern looks elicited the same aroused responses.
He’s the enemy, he’s the enemy, he’s the enemy.
