Page 66 of Taming Chaos

“You’ll be punished because of me? That’s not right… You saved my ass, Torin. You’re part of the Kordolian delegation on Earth, right? I’ll put in an appeal to the Federation and ask them to lobby on your beha—”

Torin’s laughter deepened. “There’s nothing the Federation can do to influence my boss. He has his own way of doing things. Don’t worry, Seph. I’m more than prepared to suffer the consequences of my indiscipline. Every single moment has been worth it.” Torin was probably going to be disciplined for this. The General’s preferred form of punishment was to get him into the training chamber and fight him personally—no swords, no guns, just claws—until they were both drained to the point of near-death, and then Akkadian would deliver the final victorious blow.

Because no matter how hard Torin tried, no matter how savagely his killer’s instinct screamed at him to win, the General always had a slight edge.

It made Torin look forward to their fights, because he always desperately wanted to win; he always hoped on just one occasion, he would gain the upper hand and smash Akkadian’s imperious face into the black metal floor.

He couldn’t help it. Torin was a full-blooded Kordolian male, and that was what happened when his kind fought.

But the moment he always craved never ever came, and when they finally stepped out of the training chamber, there was always a sense that the universal order had been restored.

Really, those fights weren’t so much a punishment as a reminder. Tarak was effectively saying: I am your superior, and you will do as I say. That was fine with Torin. Akkadian was the only living creature in the entire Universe he would ever allow to order him around.

Well, maybe there was one other…

“Torin, what exactly is your game plan?” She studied him with concern in her eyes. “This business with you getting hurt and the changes to your body… don’t you need to take a break?”

“It’s nothing serious. All I need is protein.” And yes, the quickest way to restore his nanites to their resting state would be to find a dead Bartharran and eat the creature’s still-warm heart, but he could still fight for ages in his current condition, so why did he have to resort to such savagery in front of his mate? He suppressed a shudder. Unlike the others, he had a particular aversion to that custom, and his brothers gave him all kinds of shit for it.

Torin shook his head. On a whim, he dropped to his knees and picked up her boots from the floor. “Lift your foot,” he commanded, holding out his hand.

There was a hint of shyness in her smile as he took her calf into his hand and slid her boot on, taking time to appreciate this particular part of her anatomy. Seph had glorious thick legs and muscular calves, and soon they would be wrapped around him as he took her against the…

Get a grip, fool.

One boot, then the other, and once again, she was fully clothed. Torin retrieved her belt and took great care to secure it around her waist, making sure everything was in place, including her cloak-pouch. He walked across to the other side of the table and retrieved her glowing wrist-device, which he tossed to her. “Come, Seph. You need to eat.” And perhaps, rest. After their lovemaking, she did appear perhaps a little brighter in spirit, but also more physically tired—he could read it in the slight slump of her shoulders; in the way her movements were just a fraction slower than before.

If time and circumstances permitted, he might even allow her to sleep, watching over her as she took a much-needed rest. From observation and talking with his fellow warriors, he knew most humans needed to sleep at least a third of every day-night cycle on Earth.

Otherwise, they became irritable and erratic, prone to making mistakes. Humans bodies were attuned to the day-night cycle of their vibrant blue-and-green planet. All things considered, Seph was doing remarkably well.

“Uh, Torin…”

“Yes, Persephone?”

“You’re still naked.”

“So I am.” His nakedness served two purposes. One, he was returning his nanites to as close as to their resting state as possible, conserving their energy. Two, he liked the little quiver of appreciation in her voice. “You humans have some strange ideas about nakedness and modesty. Why should the natural state be so offensive, so forbidden?”

“Clothing is an expression of identity,” she replied, sounding a little defensive. She increased her pace, walking a little bit ahead of him, her glorious buttocks swaying. “You might dismiss our need to dress ourselves as a strange idea, but aside from being functional, our clothes define our status in society—or at least, how we perceive our status, and how we choose to define ourselves. Without fashion, everything would fall apart. Isn’t it the same for your people, Torin Mardak?” Her voice took on a certain tone he hadn’t heard before; confident, authoritative, a little bit stern. A teacher’s voice. So different to the scared, cautious woman she’d been when they first met.

Oh, he loved this side of her.

“I see your point. We have our uniforms and our disguises, yes, but I will gladly go naked if it pleases you.” Clothing didn’t really matter to Torin, although he did enjoy the aesthetic appeal of some human fashions.

But when one’s entire body was a weapon—a dark-tech infested almost-machine—the outer shell became insignificant, especially when one had been endlessly poked and prodded and tested. Torin had no scars to show for his suffering. By Kordolian scientific standards, he was considered a perfect physical specimen—it was why he’d been selected for their infernal program in the first place—but memories of that mind-shattering torture lingered deep in Torin’s psyche, hidden beneath the cold veil.

Shit, they were all like that. Torin had earned his fucking strength, and if he wanted to parade his body around in front of his female because it pleased her, then he damn well would.

He crossed the floor and retrieved his weapons—twin swords, throwing knives, and his serrated longknife. With a simple mental command, he activated his sheath-apparatus and secured his weapons on his body. “Would you rather I wore my armor, Seph?”

“It isn’t that I don’t like looking at you,” she rasped, a red flush spreading across her cheeks, “but maybe for now… some pants might be a good idea. I just need to be able to think straight. You’re very distracting, Torin Mardak.”

“As are you, Persephone Winters. Pants. Got it.” Pleased with her reaction, he summoned the lower half of his exo-suit as he closed the gap between them. As he reached her side, he curled his fingers around her waist, enjoying the view from behind.

Seph didn’t protest. She just leaned into him a little.

“This way.” He guided her past Relahek’s ridiculously extravagant dining table, past a servant’s prep-station, all the way into a long, narrow room that was more corridor than chamber. On both sides, small objects necessary for the preparation of intricate foodstuffs were arranged on neat racks. Torin knew nothing about cooking, so he had no idea what most of the things were for.

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